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POEMS 



B Y 



MRS. HELEN TRIIESDELL. 









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CINCINNATI: 








UBLISHED BY E. MORGAN 


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NO. Ill MAIN STREET, 






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Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1852, by 

MRS. HELEN TRUESDELL, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the State of Ohio. 



CINCINNATI: 
Morgan ^ Ovrrrnd^ Printers. 



TO 



MARY L. LOOFBOUROW, 



®lii^ SFcslttme 



IS DEDICATED, AS A TRIBUTE OFLOVE 



BY PIER SISTER, 



THE AUTHOR 



CONTENTS 





PAGE 


Scotland, ........ 


. 9 


Lament for the late Nathaniel M'Lain, . 


13 


The Indian's Bride, ...... 


. 17 


The Captive Queen, ...... 


22 


Apostrophe to the Mississippi, , . . . . 


. 25 


Reply to Byrona, ...... 


29 


Ode to Friendship, ...... 


. 32 


The Return, ....... 


33 


A Tale without a Name, . . . . : 


. 36 


The Vow, 


40 


The Rustic Maiden to her Lover, 


. 42 


Stanzas sacred to the Memory of Samuel Millikan, 


46 


The Sick Child's Lament, ..... 


. 48 


A Midnight Song, ...... 


53 


Lines written for an Album, . . . •. 


. 55 


Farewell, ....... 


57 


The Triumphs of War, ...;.. 


. 60 


The Miseries of War, ..... 


62 


A Prayer for my Sister, ..... 


. 64 


The Parting, ....... 


67 



VI 



CONTENTS 



The Consumptive, ...... 

Josephine's Remonstrance, . , . . 

Thou canst not forget me, .... 

Elegiac Lines on the Death of J. J. Stewart, 

To A Neglected Artist, ..... 

i was not always sofwrowful, 

Lines addressed to my Sister at School, 

Musings, ... . . 

The Gift, 

Song of the Mountain Maid, 

The Contrast, ...... 

Lines to a Bird, ...... 

The Skeptic's Last Night, .... 

Georgiana, ...... 

Presentiments, ...... 

Annie Adair, ..... 

Lines on being shown a Tress of Hair, 

Lines accompanying a Bouquet of Lilies and Roses, 

The Captive Warrior's Lament, 

The Neglected Wife, ...... 

Irene, ....... 

The Missionaries, ...... 

I WILL hope, ...... 

i shall think of thee, ..... 

Welcome to Kossuth, ..... 

Bird of the Summer, . . . . . 

Stanzas to 

An Appeal to Queen Victoria in behalf of the Irish, 
Lines addressed to a Stranger whom I met on the Cars, 
To a Coquette, ....... 

Lines on the Death of Mrs. E. Brown, 

An Invocation, ...... 

Awake, awake, my gentle Muse, 

Withered Violets, ...... 



70 
74 
76 
78 
81 
84 
87 
90 
92 
93 
96 
98 
100 
103 
105 
106 
108 
111 
113 
116 
118 
120 
128 
.130 
132 
135 
137 
140 
143 
146 
148 
150 
152 
153 



CONTETTTS 





PAGE. 


Religion, ....... 


. 156 


Hallowed Ground, ...... 


158 


A Wish, 


. 160 


Stanzas, ...... , 


161 


To MY Little Niece, , , . . . 


. 164 


Apostrophe to my Husband, .... 


166 


Love, ....... 


. 168 


To A Friend, ....... 


170 


Little Willie, ...... 


. 172 


Country Life, ....... 


174 


I LOVED HIM, ...... 


176 


The Lonely Grave, ...... 


178 


Lines on RECEivma a Number of the Repository, 


. 180 


Autumn Flowers, ...... 


182 


Remorse, ....... 


. 183 


Home, ........ 


185 


Edith to Morton, ..... 


. 187 


Stanzas on the Death of Mrs E. Keely, 


189 


I 'M WITH you, dear. SiSTERS, . . , . 


. 192 


A Legend of the South, ..... 


193 



POEMS. 



SCOTLAND, 

Land of the mountain and the dale ! 

Thou land of deathless fame ! 
I proudly wiite on this fair page 

Thy ever-during name. 

I fling my banner to the breeze, 

I loudly call on thee 
To aid me by thy power of song, 

Bright land of minstrelsy ! 



10 SCOTLAND. 

Ye sons of genius, who would seek 

A shrine whereon to lay 
The x^nrest offering of your heart, 

'T is Scotland points the way. 

Not to the wealthy or the great. 

Doth intellect belong, — 
The poet in his low thatched cot 

Can pour his soul in song. 

And while I for a model seek. 
Mine eye instinctive turns. 

And fondly wreathed around my heart, 
I find the name of Burns. 

Who does not love the author well, 
Of that enchanting tune, 

Which sweetly steals across the heart — 
The " Braes o' Bonnie Doon ? " 

I loved it in my happier hours ; 

I love it better now ; 
Since I, like that lone one, have learned 

To mourn a broken vow. 



SCOTLAND. 11 

And should my fancy seek to rove 

'Mid scenes of beauty wild, 
I 'd turn to thee, thou gifted Scot ! 

Fair Scotia's darling child ! 

Should warriors, too, engross my pen. 

And claim from me their due, 
I 'd twine a wreath for gallant Bruce, 

And one for Wallace too. 

Sure bolder chieftains never trod. 

E'en on our own loved shore. 
Than they, with belt and tartan plaid. 

Their Highland heather o'er. 

Statesmen ! the mighty Mansfield stands 

A pattern for you all ; 
A nobler voice was never heard 

In council or in hall. 

Divines ! you too may emulate 

The Covenanter's zeal ; 
Who seeks, by penitence and tears, 

His every sin to heal. 



12 SCOTLAND. 

Behold in burrows of the earth, 
With fasting and with care, 

The persecuted Christian kneels, 
And lifts his soul in prayer. 

In this religion has he lived, — 
His purposes are high, — 

And like his gentle captive Queen, 
For it he 'd even die. 



LAMENT 

For the late Nathaniel M'Lain 

INSCRIBED TO HIS SISTER, MRS. MILTON M. HALE. 

" That soldier had stood on the battle-plain, 
Where every step was over the slain ; 
But the brand and the ball had passed him by. 
And he came to his native land— to die." 

L. E. L. 

My brother ! O my brother ! 

My soul is sad tonight : 
I 'm thinking of the fatal news — 

The dark and withering blight — 
That fell upon my spirit, 

When on lightning wings it sped, 
And told me thou, beloved one, 

Wert sleeping with the dead. 

When rang the deadly clarion 

Beneath a southern sky, 
Thou, thou wert there, my brother. 

To dare, to do, or die ; 



14 LAMENT FOR NATHANIEL MLAIN. 

Yea, ever 'mid the thickest fight — 

The bravest of the brave — 
Willing to share a soldier's fate, 

Or fill a soldier's grave. 

But thou wert spared amid it all, 

To see thy home once more ; 
Yea, borne on Neptune's friendly waves. 

Didst reach thy native shore : 
And loving friends, and tender ones, 

Came forth thy steps to greet, — 
Oh, it was joy, the dearest joy. 

Those early friends to meet ! 



Our gray -haired sire beside thee stood, 

While pride thrilled through his breast. 
Murmured thy name in tender tones, — 

And, brother, thou wert blest. 
Our mother, too, oh ! who can tell 

The deep unselfish love 
That thrilled each fiber of her soul. 

As angels thrill above ! 



I 



LAMENT FOR NATHANIEL m'lAIN. 16 



But not for me, oh ! not for me, 

To look upon thy face, — 
Only the mournful task is mine, 

This record sad to trace : 
For now, O brother of my soul ! 

From earth thou 'st passed away. 
And that warm, generous heart of thine. 

Lies 'neath the cold, cold clay. 

In sable garb, with saddened step. 

And sadly waving plume. 
They laid thee, with thy young renown, 

Low in the silent tomb ; 
With laurels fresh upon thy brow. 

They laid thee down to rest 
Within thine own dear native land — 

Fair Yalley of the West. 

Our father's joy is turned to grief ; 

Our mother's hopes have fled ; 
The visions that we cherished, all 

Like withered leaves lie dead : 



16 L'AMENT FOR NATHANIEL m'lAIN. 



And she, the chosen of thy heart, 

The tender and the true, 
Has gazed her last upon thy face, 

And wept her last adieu. 

Yet vain our sorrows, vain our tears ; 

Though never vain the spell 
That lingers round a sister's heart. 

When she has said farewell 
To one, who e'en from childhood's hour 

Has grown up by her side. 
From all its witching tenderness, 

To manhood's joyous pride. 

Then bid me not to dry my tears, 

ISTor bid me cease to mourn, — 
The deep, deep love that stirs my soul. 

With life's first breath was born. 
Brother ! the memory of thy worth 

Shall live within my breast. 
And point me to that sacred home. 

Where thou hast found a rest. 



[ I remember, when a child, reading an account of an Indian Chief, 
who went from America to England, and married the fair 
daughter of an English house. She is represented as approach- 
ing the altar with the greatest enthusiasm. ] 



THE INDIAN'S BRIDE 



■ Holy and pure are the drops that fall, 
When the young bride goes from her father's hall : 
She goes unto love yet untried and new — 
She parts from love which hath still been true.'" 

Mrs. Hemans. 



" Oh, bind the bridal vail," she said, 

" Sweet sister, on my brow. 
And let me to the altar go. 

To take the sweetest vow 

" That ever passed from woman's lips. 
Or thrilled through woman's breast ; — 

Without it love is but a dream. 
And life is all unblest." 



18 THE Indian's bride, 



Gently the bridal vail was bound 

Amid those tresses fair, 
Which hung, like rays of golden light, 

So beautiful they were, 

Around the maiden's sylph-like form, — ■ 

So full of perfect grace. 
You 'd rarely see so fair a form, 

"With such a lovely face. 

The high fair brow, the loving lips. 

The sad, yet tender eyes. 
Whose color only could be matched 

By heaven's own azure dyes. 

And then the small fair hands were clasped ; 

The maiden knelt in prayer ; 
And her sweet voice went floating out 

Like music on the air. 

But strange the contrast ! — he who stood 

To claim her for his bride, 
A dark-browed Indian Chief was he, 

The forest's fear and pride. 



THE INDIAN S BRIDE. 19 

What wild emotion moved his heart ? 

Say, should we call it love, 
That brought the eagle from on high 

To mate him with the dove ? 

Was there no maiden of his tribe, 

No dark-eyed, dusky one, 
Who dwelt within his native wilds 

On toward the setting sun, 

Conld bear his burden by his side ? — 

With him the hills could roam ? — 
And/lress for him the mountain deer. 

And tend his forest home ? 

But must he woo this lovely flower 

From Albion's distant shore. 
To wither 'neath a foreign sky. 

And pine in sorrow sore ? 

What will she, with her costly gems. 

That she has worn with pride ? 
The feather and the shell were best 

To deck the Eed Man's bride. 



20 THE Indian's bride. 

"What will she, for her happy home, 
Where peace and plenty smile ? 

Oh, cruel was the heart, methinks. 
That could her steps beguile ! 

And when the wild romance is past — 
The foolish dream is o'er — 

Will she not think upon the home 
Which she shall see no more ? 

Will not her mother's voice at eve 
Steal 'mid those woods so dim. 

Borne on the fragrance of the breeze, 
Soft as a vesper hymn ? 

Her sister's, too, — the gentle girl 
Who bound the flowerets fair. 

While tear-drops fell like glittering pearls. 
Amid her golden hair ? 

And her fond father,— he who strove. 

In tones of choking woe. 
To bless his darling ere he bade — 

Ah, sadly bade — her go, 



THE Indian's bride. 21 

To cheer the Indian's wigwam rude, 

Far o'er the shadowy main, 
Leaving behind fond precious hopes 

She ne'er can know ao;ain. 



THE CAPTIVE aUEEN 



• I was the Queen o' bonnie France, 

Where happy I hae been ; 
Fu' lightly rose I in the morn, 

As blithe lay down at e^en : 
And I 'm the Sovereign of Scotland, 

And mony a traitor there, 
Yet here I lie, in foreign bands. 

And never-ending care." 

BUKNS. 



She sat alone — yes, all alone — within that gloomy tower, 
For she, though young and beautiful, had felt oppression's 

power; 
She had each lovely attribute that ladies ever prize. 
The sylph-like form, the fairy step, the bright and starry eyes. 

And ne'er a loftier intellect had fallen to woman's lot ; 

A fame, that malice tried in vain on which to fix a blot. 

The sun threw out its gorgeous rays o'er mount, and vale, 

and hill. 
And seemed the very earth and air with joyousness to fill. 



THE CAPTIVE QUEEN. 23 

But though it shed its genial rays, no joy could it impart, 
To soothe the agony and care that weighed the Captive's heart ; 
She gazed upon the glorious scene through bitter, blinding tears, 
And hurriedly her mind went back to earlier, happier years. 

But where were now those happy hours, the step and spirit 

free ?— 
The thousand warriors, wdio had deemed it pride to bend the 

knee 
To one so good and beautiful, the Dauphin's gentle bride, 
Heir of fair Scotia's royal crown, and France a dower beside. 

Where were ye, lords of Scotland, all, and gentlemen of 

France ? 
Why came ye not, with valorous hearts, to break for her a 

lance ? 
And where were ye, ye courtly dames, in proud and rich array, 
Who dwelt within your Sovereign's court, and owned her 

gentle sway ? 

And Murray, thou of princely blood, near to the royal line, 
Hadst thou no offering to lay upon thy sister's shrine ? 
Did no avenging spirit wake within thy haughty breast ? 
Or didst thou coldly fold thine arms, as faithless as the rest ? 



24: THE CAPTIVE QUEEN. 

No answer ! — let thy silence tell thy perjury and shame I 
Ambition lured thee, but thou ne'er didst wear a wreath of 

fame ; — 
Ambition lured thee on to dwell amid thy sister's foes, 
Forgetful of her kindred ties, forgetful of her woes ; 

Forgetful of her tender care, her too confiding love, 
A sovereign's wrongs, a sister's tears, could not thy pity move. 
But by a woman thou wert made, in after years, to feel, — 
For 't was her hand which armed with death the dread 
assassin's steel. 

Thou, who so recklessly upon another's rights hadst trod. 
Saw thine own name go down in death, in darkness, and in 

blood ! 
But, Mary, in thy darkest hour some happiness was thine ; 
For thou didst lay thy trusting heart upon a holy shrine. 

For though thine was an erring faith, 't was beautiful to see 
Thy steadfast love, thine earnest zeal, thy tender constancy ; 
All Europe looked with pitying eyes upon thy closing fate, 
And mourned for Scotland's Koyal Flower — the lone, the 
desolate ! 



APOSTROPHE TO THE MISSISSIPPI 



INSCRIBED TO MRS. H. TRUESDELL. 



" To a kindred spirit these lines belong — 
A daughter of Genius, a child of Song." 

Byrona. 



As on thy waters now I gaze, 

Another by my side 
Follows, with sad and tearful eye. 

Thy dark and turbid tide. 

A widowed heart it is that bends 
In grief beside me here, — 

A heart bereft, in early youth, 
Of all it held most dear. 



26 APOSTROPHE TO THE MISSISSIPPI 

And tliou, engulfing waters, thou 
Didst rob this sorrowing one — 

Didst snatch the idol from its shrine, 
And leave the heart alone. 

Scarce had the bridal flowers grown pale 
Which loving hands had wreathed, — 

Scarce had the husband's tender vows 
In happiness been breathed, — 

Ere from the altar he had reared, 
That shrine of love — a home. 

The guardian of that temple dear 
By evil fate was torn. 

He trusted to thy treacherous waves. 
Thou dark, uncertain stream ; 

But of the fearful doom thou 'dst planned, 
How little did he dream ! 

'T was sounding still upon his ear — 
Love's fond and last adieu ; 

And, as each wave still bore him on, 
The absent dearer grew. 



APOSTROPHE TO THE MISSISSIPPI. 27 

He gazed on thee, and thought perchance 

Of bliss till now unknown ; 
When thy relentless billows part, 

And claim him for thine own. 

The bridal wreath so fondly worn. 

Was withered in an hour, — 
Crushed by a fearful weight of woe, 

There lay a tender flower. 

The fragrance of that opening flower 

Was given to the morn, 
And ere the evening sun was low, 

Its sweet perfume was gone. 

The mournful cypress now replaced 

The lovely orange wreath ; 
And sable robes were gathered close 

This emblem sad beneath. 

An emblem fit it was to wear, — 

For truthfully it spoke ; 
A loving nature has been crushed — 

A gentle spirit broke. 



28 APOSTROPHE TO THE MISSISSIPPI. 

Sorrowing stranger ! mingling tears 

Are flowing fast with thine : 
Would that they could thy spirit heal — 
These heart-felt tears of mine ! 

Byron A. 



REPLY TO BYRONA. 

How shall I thank thee ? not with words ;- 
These burning tears can speak, — 

This bitter agony of heart, — 
This blanching of the cheek. 

For thou hast touched a mournful chord, 

That vibrates every hour, 
With all a poet's gentle skill — 

A womarCs gentle power. 

Thou 'st brought me back to other days, — 

The tender and the good, 
Who 's sleeping in his silent home, 

'Midst woodland solitude. 



30 REPLY TO BYRONA. 

But not more lonely is the grave 

Of him for whom I pine, 
Than are these faded hopes which still 

Eound early memories twine. 

Ten years ! ten long and weary years, 
Passed like a scroll away. 

Since last I stood upon that spot. 
Upon that fatal day. 

I 'm gazing on a manly form, 

And on a manly face. 
And clasped, with all a husband's love, 

In one long fond embrace. 

And words of tenderness were breathed- 

Of happiness and home. 
And promises that ne'er again 

From that dear ark he 'd roam. 

Ah, well didst thou define each thought. 
That dwelt in that fond breast ! 

For when apart from those he loved. 
His spirit found no rest. 



J 



REPLYTORYRONA. 31 

But back again lie would have come, 

To quiet every fear, 
And v/ith his tender, loving tones, 

His household band to cheer. 

But though we looked with anxious hearts, 

And tearful eyes, 't was vain ; 
Eelentless death had severed us, — 

We never met again. 

Now thanks, kind stranger, for each word, 
Each thought, that thou hast penned. 

And thanks for all thy sympathy. 
My loved and gifted friend. 



ODE TO FRIENDSHIP 



'' Friendship above ail ties doth bind the heart ; 
And faith in friendship is the noblest part." 

Earl of Orrehy— Henry the Fifth. 



Let those who scoff at Friendship's name, 
For others ne'er profess a flame 
"Which they can never feel. 

Sure friendship 's near akin to love ; 

'T is cherished by the saints above, 

And recognized in heaven. 

Oh, I have felt its gentle power ; 
It soothed me in the bitterest hour 
Of anguish and of strife. 

When worn with sorrow and with care, 
I 've turned and found a solace there, 
Nought else on earth could give. 



THE RETURN 



" I looked again — the wanderer had returned." 

Byron. 



Room for the loved one ! room once more ! — 
He has come again to his native shore ; 

He has come at last from the bounding sea, 
With a spirit light, with a spirit free : 

There 's a thrill in his heart of rapture wild. 
Like the gushing tones of a joyous child. 

He is pausing now by the hawthorn shade, 

The favorite haunt where his childhood played ; 

Where he used to stand, with a glistening eye, 
And list to the sea's wild lullaby : 

For even there, by that shelly strand. 
Did he dream of a far-off stranger land. 



34 THE RETURN. 

Oh ! that stranger land had charms lor him, 
As he seemed to look through the futm*e dnn ; 

The gentle breath of a classic land 

Seemed to fan his cheek with it's breezes bland, 

And on Fancy's wings he was bounding free, 
A mariner o'er an " nntroubled sea." 



That time is passed, that dream proved true ; — 
He has plowed old Neptune's waters blue ; 

He has looked on Venice, the proud, the free, 
Where she sits in her glory, fair " Bride of the Sea^" 

And traversed the shores of sunny France, 
Bright land of beauty and romance ! — 



And paused, where the moonlight softly lay 
On the ancient walls of the Alhambra, 

Where the last, last sigh of the sad Moor stole 
Like a knell of death to a parting soul : 

But that time has passed, he has ceased to roam. 
And come at last to his native home. 



T H E R E T U R N . 35 

And ne'er has he looked on a fairer sight, 
Than his father's house in the softened light ; 

And the lowly cottage, just beside, — 
The humble home of his plighted bride. 

Where she's kept her faith for many years. 
And looked for his coming through dimming tears. 



A TALE WITHOUT A NAME 



" Marriage is a matter of more worth, 
Tlian to be dealt in by attorneyship." 

Shakspeare— JEZe?iri/ VI. 



Morn's earliest rays had tinged the tree-tops 
With their golden hue ; when a fond mother 
Sought the couch whereon her child reposed. 
" Awake, my Alice ! awake !" she cried, 
" To happiness : it is thy bridal morn ! 
The sun comes out with gorgeous splendor. 
As though it sought to make more glad this happy day. 
Dost mark how proudly even now the crimson 
Sunlight rests on yonder hillock fair, where 
Stands thy future home ? When eve shall come, thou 
Wilt be mistress of the proudest mansion 



A TALE WITHOUT A NAME. 37 

In this proud city — the envy of the 

London world. Slaves at thy bidding then will 

Come ; broad lands and manors fair be thine ; and 

More than this, the deep, abiding love of 

One, whom many sought, but sought in vain, 

To win. Dost hear me not, my daughter ?" 

Gently 
The maiden started from her sleep, with such 
A look of radiant happiness upon 
Her face, the mother's conscience ceased a 
Moment to reproach. But, ah ! 't was but 
A transient gleam — the meteor's ray. With 
Her soft hand she put aside the curls that 
Clustered round her brow of snowy whiteness. 
And in a tone of deep and touching sadness 
Said — "Why didst thou wake me, mother ? I in 
Dreams had wandered far away, to my 
Sweet childhood's home. I stood beside the fount. 
Whose limpid waters gushed and bubbled 
At my feet ; and by my side was Herbert Gray, 
My childhood's playmate — the dear companion 
Of my later youth ; and hand in hand we 



38 A TALE WITHOUT A NAME. 

Roved together 'mid the sweets that scent 

My native vale : and he did gaze so fondly 

In my face, and clasp my hand so tenderly 

In his, I feel the pressure of it yet. 

But, ah ! 't was but a dream !" And tears, those 

Swift, unbidden messengers of grief, dimmed 

Her soft pleading eyes. 

The mother's brow grew dark. 
" What ! tears upon thy bridal morn ? they ill 
Become thee : thou shouldst be a woman now, and 
Lay aside all childish things." " Oh ! chide me 
Not, my mother ; but let me still weep on : 
Tomorrow, though my heart should break, I must 
Not shed a tear." 

Morn on her rosy wings went by ; 
The noon's hot, scorching rays had sunk into 
The quiet shades of eve, when the bride-maidens 
Sought the gentle bride. But when they came unto 
Her room, they marveled much to find she 
Was not there : they sought, but sought in vain ; they 
Called, but Echo only answered back 



A TALE WITHOUT A NAME. 39 

The call. The father's brow grew dark with grief; 
The mother wept aloud ; and the stern bridegroom 
Muttered something of woman's faithlessness, — • 
When, lo ! a note was brought. 'T was signed by 
Herbert Gray ; and read — " We two have grown together, 
With such fond and earnest faith, — have loved each other 

With such holy love, to sunder us is death " 

And when he spoke of Alice, his sweet bride, 

He said — " The primrose better loves the shade, 

The violet seeks a sheltered dell. 

And there unfolds its sweets." One trembling line 

Was writ by Alice' hand: and when the parents 

Read it, ambition died within their hearts. 

And they acknowledged there, before their guests. 

Limits to parental law ; for though a parent 

May restrain his child, he must not barter 

Her for gold. 



THE VOW. 

I PLEDGE me not to love another, — • 

I bind me by a yow 
To love, in clear and cloudy weather, 

None other one bnt thou. 



Though others tell me that I'm fair. 

And whisper in mine ear 
That I have all endowments rare. 

Still, still I will not hear. 

Then cast away thy jealous fears, 

And list to what I say — ■ 
My heart thy kindness always cheers, 

Then smile on me I i^ray. 



THE vow. 41 

Thou foolish one ! thou canst not know 

How fondly thou art loved, 
Or thou wouldst never doubt me so, 

When faithful I have proved. 

Say, wouldst thou never have me smile 

But when I smile on thee ? 
Nor seek thy absence to beguile, 

When friends are kind to me ? 

AVouldst have me coldly turn away. 

And slight those friends so true ? 
Nor ever have a single thought, 

But what I give to you ? 

Then be it so ! I '11 love thee still, 

With more than woman's love ; 
Though all unkind must be thy will. 

By tenderness I '11 prove 

That thou art all in all to me, — 

The dearest and the best, — 
I only wish thy smiles to see. 

And I am truly blest. 



THE RUSTIC MAIDEN TO HER LOVER, 



" Our love it ne'er was reckoned, 
Yet good it is, and true ; 

It 's half the world to me, dear, 
It 's all the world to you." 

Hood. 



I HAVE loved thee with a love 
That can know no change ; 

And with thee, through distant lands, 
Oft in fancy range. 

I have pictured to myself 

A lone, but lovely spot, — 
With honeysuckle twined around, 

A neat and simple cot. 



THE RUSTIC MAIDEN TO HER LOVER. 43 

Far away from noise and strife, 

Ambition, pomp, and pride, 
Happily would our days pass on. 

Sweet the moments glide. 

I my household work would do. 

Watch thy home with care, 
And make thine every sorrow light 

By sympathy and prayer. 

And when at eve thy work was done, 

I 'd sit and sing to thee 
Songs of our own loved mountain home, 

Far o'er the deep blue sea. 

Or else, perchance, I 'd mind thee of 

The talks we 'd had together. 
And many little pleasant walks, 

In pleasant summer weather. 

With friends who then were far away. 

That we had left behind. 
But whose loved images still dwelt 

Imprinted on each mind. 



M THE RUSTIC MAIDEN TO HER LOVER 

Oil ! who would ask a happier lot ? 

I would not change it now 
For all the bright and glittering gems 

That deck a monarch's brow. 

For well the great Philosopher 

Of poets truly said, 
A " golden sorrow "is their lot, 

Encircled round their head. 

You think that I must weep, to leave 
The home I love so well ; — 

The deep devotion of her heart, 
A maiden may not tell. 

Long as the object of her love 

Is worthy in her eyes. 
She never dreams that she can make 

Too great a sacrifice. 

And when unto the Western wilds 

I go, thy home to bless. 
Thou then perhaps will learn the depth 

Of woman'' s tenderness. 



THE RUSTIC MAIDEN TO HER LOVER. 45 

But 1 have written quite enough, 

For thy fond eyes to see 
The weakness of thine Amy's heart,— 

So now good night to thee ! 



STANZAS 
Sacked to the Memory of Samuel Millikan, 

Who died in California, November 25th, 1851. 

In the far-off land of the stranger's home, 
Where the south winds fan the breath, 

Amid lovely flowers, and " golden dreams," 
They laid him down in death. 

A lone tree marks the sacred spot, 
"Where he sleeps in his dreamless sleep, 

And the moaning winds with a pitying sound, 
Their mighty vigils keep ; 

And beauteous birds with their silvery wings, 

Will nestle upon that tree ; 
And spring's sweet violets will deck the grave 

Which his loved ones ne'er can see : 



I 

i 
STANZAS. 47 '■ 

And oft will the stranger's careless foot 

Pass the lone and sad spot by, 
Nor think of one who came so far - 

From his native land — to die ! 1 

Oh, sad w^as the day and fatal the hour, 

When his spirit sighed to roam ; i 

When he tm-ned from the dear and sacred joys, ' 

That clustered around his home ! 



THE SICK CHILD'S LAMENT. 

" Oh ! mother, I am sorrowful ; 

There 's sadness in my heart ; 
I know not why it is, and yet 

All day the tears will start. 

" They tell me of a better land ; — ■ 

O mother, is it so, 
That they who reach those radiant shores, 

No pain or sickness know ? 

" And, mother, in my sleep last night, 

There o'er my spirit fell 
A strange sweet dream, I scarce know why, 

But fain to thee would tell. 



THE SICK child's LAMENT. 49 



" I thought that, robed in spotless white, — 

A crown upon my head, — 
Surrounded by a fairy band 

Of children, — I was led 

" By a tall figure, clothed in black — 

A scepter in his hand. 
And every one to whom he spoke 

Sprang forth at his command, 

" He led us on through darksome scenes. 

And damp unwholesome air ; 
And then there burst upon my sight, 

A scene so heavenly fair — ■ 

" A city, all of purest gold, 

Set round with radiant gems. 
And, every place I looked, I saw 

Ten thousand diadems ; 

" And countless numbers tuned their harps, 

In strains of music sweet ; 
And angels, bearing golden lyres, 

Came forth our steps to greet. 



50 THE SICK child's LAMENT 



" They led us to a lofty throne, 

Of ivory and gold ; — 
But, ah ! the beauty of that place 

Must still be all untold ; 

'' For could my childish lips assume 

An angel's heavenly tone. 
Fruitless and vain my words would prove. 

And useless be the loan. 

" Then wonder not I 'm sorrowful. 

And have been so all day ; 
For though I love my own dear home, 

I fain would always stay 

" Amid those scenes so beautiful. 

So gladdening to the eye : 
But, ere I reach that lofty home. 

Dear mother, I must die." 

The mother's cheek grew deadly pale. 
Her eyes were filled with tears. 

She placed her hand upon her heart, 
As stifling all her fears . 



THE SICK CHILD\S LAMENT. 51 

But when she spoke, her words were calm 

As an unruffled stream, 
And gentle, tender, i^uyq and kind 

As her own loved one's dream : — 

" Thy prayer is heard, my beautiful. 

My loving one and bright ! 
Thy lips to me too soon will breathe 

Their last — ^yes, last ' Good night!' " 

" Yes, mother, for I hear again 

The music softly flow. 
And see the angels beckon me, — 

I 'm weary, and would go 

" To join that high and holy throng 

Who worship there above, — 
One kiss, dear mother ! 't is the last, 

Last pledge of earthly love !" 

She placed a kiss upon her child, 

•f 
In fondness, but in woe ; 

Then knelt in that deep agony, 

Which none but mothers know. 



52 THE SICK child's LAMENT. 



But when she rose the storm had ceased ; 

She felt as one who 'd given, 
With all its pure and sinless truth, 

An angel back to heaven. 



A MIDNIGHT SONG. 

I AM alone, 't is midnight liour, 

And midnight breezes fan my brow : 

How, with a deep and holy power, 
Are early memories gathering now ! 

Tell me, ye pale and tranquil stars, 
That in such placid beauty shine. 

While anguish deep my spirit mars, 
Holdst thou the lost and loved of mine ? 

Or art thou, like our own dark world, 
Eedeemed by precious blood, set free ? 

From thy proud innocence been hurled ? 
Didst nail thy Saviour to a tree ? 



54 A MIDNIGHT SONG. 

Or if thou art what first thou seemed, 
A heaven where all is bright and fair, 

Where are those loving ones, who beamed 
In visioned loveliness while here ? 



LINES WRITTEN FOR AN ALBUM. 

To write a few lines in your Album, my friend, 
Shall engross a few moments my thoughts and my pen : 
But in these few moments — oh, what shall I say ? 
Where shall I begin, or where leave off, I pray ? 

In the first place, I '11 speak of the wind and the weather, 
With its clouds, and its storms, and its sunshine together : 
'T is a picture of life, — all a moral may glean 
From each withering flower and murmuring stream. 

Oh ! the dreams of my childhood were brilliant and gay ; 
But, like perishing flowers, they faded away : 
Like perishing flowers, they were born but to bloom. 
Then wither, and die, and sink in the tomb. 



f 



56 LINES WRITTEN FOR AN ALBUM. 

So bright were my visions, I oft would retreat 
To some lovely fountain, with flowers at my feet. 
And there such fair dreams of happiness frame 
As are known in this cold selfish world but by name. 

But ere eighteen brief summers had passed o'er my brow. 
The hope of my heart in the grave was laid low : 
Since then, who can tell, who can dare to divine, 
The sorrows and cares that have ever been mine ? 

Thou too, dearest friend, a deep sorrow hast known ; 
But I trust from thy spirit forever it 's flown : 
May the fair hopes that linger and dwell round thee yet. 
Soothe every sorrow and soften regret ! 

May thy son, like the oak, the forest's proud tree. 
Be a shelter, protection, and comfort to thee ! 
May thy daughters be gentle, obedient, and kind. 
And possess every grace both of person and mind ! 



FAREWELL. 



Farewell ! we shall not meet again, 

As we are parting now, — 
1 must my beating heart restrain, 

Must vail my burning brow." 

L. E. L. 



Farewell ! the sorrow of that tone 

Falls sadly on mine ear : 
It was not hard to learn to love, 

But hard to learn to fear. 

Oh ! sad indeed, to doubt the faith 
Of one once loved so well, — 

There 's anguish in the very thought, 
And madness in the spell 



58 FAREWELL. 

That seems to wreath itself around 

This wounded heart of mine, 
Alas, that 'mid our dearest joys 

A dark wreath should entwine ! 

When first I met thee, thou didst seem 

All that was fond and gay ; 
Thy gentle voice, thy winning mien 

Could chase e'en care away. 

But now, thy voice has ceased to charm ; 

Thy mien is cold and i^roud ; 
And that once sunny brow of thine 

Forever wears a cloud. 

What changed thee thus ? — what changed thee thus 

I can not dare surmise : 
Perhaps thou hast found a fairer face ? 

Perhaps some brighter eyes ? 

Oh, yes, they tell me thou art false. 

And love another now ! 
Then be it so, I '11 wear again 

The cypress round my brow. 



FAREWELL. 59 



When others join the festive train, 
And seek bright hours to keep, 

I '11 turn me to my silent home. 
In solitude to weep. 



THE TRIUMPHS OF WAR 



' No blood-stained victory, in story bright, 
Can give the philosophic mind delight — 
No triumph please ; while rage and death destroy, 
Reflection sickens at the monstrous joy." 

Bloomfield. 



Proud was the chariot that bore the bold warrior. 
Swift were the steeds that sped him along ; 

"Wild were the strains of deep martial music 

That broke from their ranks in the soul of their song. 

Bound was the brow of the victor with glory ; 

Bright, as the laurels the proud Eoman wore, 
Glittered his helmet, — beneath the broad sunlight 

Floated his banner in triumph before. 



THETRIUMPHSOFWAR. 61 

Forth from each village, and city, and hamlet. 
Came the glad people their Chieftain to greet, 

Beautiful maidens with flowers they had gathered — 
Gathered to strew at the conqueror's feet. , 

" Long live our Chieftain ! the boldest the bravest ! — 
" Long live our Champion ! " re-echoed afar; 

Proud grew his breast in that moment of triumph, 
But dark was his hand with the crimson of war. 

Wide flew the gate- ways that led to the palace : 
Banners were floating from turret and dome ; 

Fair ladies joyously waved him a welcome, — 
Welcome once more to his beautiful home. 

Bright flowed the wine that night at the banquet ; 

Pages presented it, bending the knee : 
Young maidens danced to the gayest of measures. 

Shouting aloud, '' We are free ! we are free !" 



THE MISERIES OF WAR 



■ After the brightest conquest, what appears 
Of all the glories ? For the vanquished, chains !— 
For the proud victors, what ? alas, to reign 
O'er desolated nations !'' 

Hannah Moore. 



Dark was the battle-field — dark with the carnage, 
Eed with the blood of the wounded and slain ; 

Low plaintive moanings broke on the night winds — 
Moanings of anguish, moanings of pain. 

Pale gleamed the moonlight o'er the dead warriors ; 

Sad looked the stars on that desolate sight : 
Proud forms had perished that day in the battle ; 

Fond hopes had died 'mid the thickest of fight. 



THE MISERIES OF WAR. 63 

Hoof- trodden, scarred by the sword and the sabre, 
All showed the place where the foemen had striven ; 

Mournfully mingled the laurel and cypress, 

Broken hearts wept for the ties that were riven. 

Sad sighed the Wind Spirit 'mid the lone branches, 

Sad as a requiem or dirge for the slain ; 
Pale watchers looked from their lone far-off dwellings, 

Dreaming of loved ones they 'd meet not again. 

Paused I a moment beside a bold warrior : 

Slowly his spirit w^as passing away. 
Grasped in his hand was the standard of battle. 

Bravely he 'd fought for his country that day. 

" Scenes of my childhood," he murmured in sadness, 

" Wife of my bosom, and children, adieu ! 
Farewell, my country ! I fought for your freedom, — 

There are tears for my loved ones, but glory for you." 



A PRAYER FOR MY SISTER. 

May no dark sorrow ever fling 

Its shadows round thy path, 
But all things lovely, all things fair, 

Be thine in life and death ! 

It was evening, gentle evening, 

" Twilight dews were falling fast ;" 

Day, with all its radiant splendor. 
Like a brilliant dream had passed : 

I sat musing, sadly musing. 

On this weary world of ours, — 
" True," I said, " life has its pleasures. 

Sometimes thorns, and sometimes flowers ; 



A PRAYER FOR MY SISTER. 65 

" But tlie thorns I 've always gathered, 

For they in my pathway lay, — 
Shunning never the few flowers 

That were scattered by the way." 

As I thus sat sadly musing. 

Thy sweet voice fell on mine ear. 
Ringing out so glad and joyous, 

Bird-like, musical and clear. 

" Thou art happy, dearest sister," 

Thus I murmured sad and low, — 
" May no darkling shadow ever 

Dim thy pathway here below ; 

" But like yonder flowing river, 

Like that fair and silvery stream. 
May thy life glide sweetly onward, 

Happy as a poet's dream — 

" Like that far-oflfland of sculpture. 

That sweet sunny, southern clime. 
Where 't is always smiling summer, 

Never chilly winter time !" 



ee A PRAYER FOR MY SISTER. 

This the prayer, O dearest sister ! 

This the prayer I breathe for thee,- 
That thy life be ever happy, 

In time and in eternity ! 



THE PAHTING. 



" But there was weeping far away ; 

And gentle eyes, for him 

With watching many an anxious day, 

Were sorrowful and dim." 

Bryant. 



" Ye woods and wilds," how bright ye seem ! 

As green the mantle on your boughs, 
As when in days now long gone by, 

Ye listened to my Edmund's vows. 

The birds sang out their happiest song ; 

The wild-flowers wore their brightest hue ; 
The skies in beauty o'er us bent, 

Eobed in their softest, loveliest blue. 



THE PARTING. 

Oh ! were not those delightful hours, 
When every hope of life was young ? 

How, with fond woman's trusting powers. 
Upon each tender word I hung ! 

But, ah ! the blessed charm soon fled ; 

For they who loved were doomed to part,- 
The one to die in foreign lands. 

The other bear a broken heart. 

"We parted : — each returning morn 

I came to look upon the sea ; 
And every eve I sat me down 

Beneath the shadow of this tree. 

Forever hallowed be the spot. 

Where first and last I sat with him ! 

I 've gazed upon the sacred place 
Until my very sight grew dim. 

But soon the fatal news came back — 
It sped like wildfire through my brain — 

That he, the loved and gifted one. 
In battle on the seas was slain. 



T HE P A 11 T I N G . 69 



For many a long and weary month, ] 

I wandered forth a maniac wild, j 

Until a mother's tender care 

Restored the reason of her child. • 



Since then, with fond but faded hopes, 
I 've wandered through the earth alone 

Cheered by the high and holy hope, 
I yet shall meet with him I mourn. 



THE CONSUMPTIVE 



• Can this be death ? There 's bloom upon her cheek ! 
But now I see it is no living hue, 
But a strange hectic — like the unnatural red 
Which autumn plants upon the perished leaf." 



'T WAS on a lovely sabbbatli eve, 

I walked me forth to take the air, 
When, 'neath a vine-clad cottage roof, 

I saw a young and lovely pair : 
The youth was tall and finely formed. 

But in his dark, expressive eye 
Some deep laid sorrow seemed to dwell. 

And from his bosom came a sigh. 

The lady, fair and slightly formed, — 
Her eyes were dark, and lustrous too,- 

But, oh ! that lovely cheek of hers 
Wore far too deep the roseate hue. 



THE CONSUMPTIVE. 71 

I listened, but no word was spoken ; 

A low deep cough broke on mine ear, — 
It was enough, I turned aside 

To dry away a starting tear. 

The lady spoke at length and said — ■ 

" Dearest! I soon from thee must part, 
But I shall bear, e'en unto death, 

Thine image graved upon my heart ! 
Thy watchful love, thy tender care 

Of me, I never can requite ; 
But there is One who dwells above. 

And will reward in power and might." 

" l!^ay ! talk not thus," he wildly said — > 

" So young, so fair, so lately wed ! 
I can not bear to think that thou 

Must wear the cypress o'er thy brow ; 
I can not bear to yield thee up ! 

God give me grace to drink the cup !" 

'' Cease thy repinings — vain indeed, — 
For, oh ! I feel death on me now :— 



72 T H E C U N S U M P T I V E . 

Here, clasp me closer to thy heart, 

And lay thy hand upon my brow ; — • 
And say, beloved, when 1 am gone, 

Thou wilt not monrn for my return ; 
Life's feverish dreams are almost o'er, — 

We part, dear friend, to meet no more 
On earth ; but ties, thus rudely riven. 

Will soon be fondly blent in heaven !" 

She spoke no more, her breath failed fast. 

She gave one look — it was the last — 
'T was full of faith, and hope, and love ; 

Then raised her dying eyes above. 
He sadly bowed himself and wept : 

The servants deemed their lady slept. 
And wondered at the grief so wild. 

That bowed their master like a child ; 
But soon the truth upon them broke — 

She slept indeed, but never woke ! 



Not long he lingered here below. 
With none to soothe his silent woe 



THE CONSUMPTIVE. 73 

They sleep together, side by side — 

The bridegroom, and his fair young bride ; 

Not on a downy couch they lay. 
But in their prison house of clay ; 

Their bodies rest beneath the sod — 
Their spirits dwell, I trust, with God. 



JOSEPHINE'S REMONSTRANCE, 

" Bonaparte, behold that bright star ; it is mine ! and remember, to mine— not 
thine— has sovereignty been promised. Separate, then, our fates, and your star 
fades." 

Nay, bid me not depart from tliee ! 

Thou hast not said the word ; 
Or it is all forgotten now, 

Or else not rightly heard. 

Speak quickly ! tell me 't is not so ! 

I have not heard aright ! 
Thou wouldst not cast upon my soul 

This dark and withering blight ! 

Napoleon ! in that fatal hour 

Peace will from thee depart ; 
And not alone shall I be doomed 

To bear a broken heart. 



JOSEPHINE S REMONSTRANCE. 7. 

Yet think not that I wish 't were so, — 

God knows this heart of mine, 
That dear and precious to my soul, 

Is every wish of thine. 

Yet bear in mind, the crown you wear 

Was promised unto me ; 
That I, not thou, have ever been 

The Child of Destiny. 

Apart from me thou canst not live, 

Thy fortunes will decay. 
And thou, Kapoleon ! in that hour. 

Wilt think on what I say. 

And yet I would not seek to move 

Thy purpose, firmly set ; 
But, oh ! forgive the tender hopes 

That cling to memory yet ! 



TIIOU CANST NOT FORGET ME. 

Thou canst not forget me : I know that thy heart 

Will cherish my memory wherever thou art ; 

My image will rise, like a spirit, to thee, — 

Thou mayst strive, but, alas ! thou canst never be free. 

'Midst the gay and the giddy, thou 'It seek to forget. 
But vain are thy strivings, thou still must regret : 
The hopes thou hast blighted, the heart cast away. 
Will linger around thee till life's latest day. 

And I — oh, my spirit is dark as the night. 

When I think of the hopes thou hadst power to blight ! 

But think not I hate thee ; no, still in my heart 

Thou art shrined, and from memory thou ne'er canst depart. 



THOU CANST NOT FORGET ME. 77 

When evening's soft shadows shall wreath round my head, 
And the day in its splendor and beauty hath fled, 
Oh ! then in my spirit thou surely wilt claim 
A place, and in prayer I will murmur thy name ! 

Oh ! wilt thou not turn from the snares that allure, 
And seek for the joys that are holy and pure ? 
'T will save thee from sorrow, from folly and vice. 
Then seek for one gem — 't is the pearl of great price. 



ELEGIAC LINES, 

On the Death of J. J. Stewart, 

Who unfortunately fell a victim to Cholera, while on his v/ay to California 

WRITTEN BY REQUEST, AND INSCRIBED TO HIS AFFLICTED MOTHER. 

Awake, my mournful liarp, once more. 
Awake and sing thy saddest strain ! 

Thrice have I tried to touch my lyre. 
And thrice my eflbrts x^roved in vain. 

But now, with trembling sadness, I 
Haste to obey a loved request : 

Would that with holy feeling I 

Could everv word and thought invest. 



ELEGIACLINES. 79 

Mournful indeed, and sad thy fate ; 

Far, far from all to thee most dear, 
To wrestle with the monster Death, 

Within that desert lone and drear. 

Xo tender sister o'er thee stood ; 

N^o fond and sorrowing mother there. 
With all a mother's holy love. 

Breathed forth for thee a last sad prayer. 

A worn, but now a broken band. 

With mournful step and slow, 
Bore thee unto thy silent home. 

And laid thy proud form low. 

With lonely sorrow on their hearts, 

And many a lingering look. 
With folded arms upon their breasts. 

Their last farewell they took ; 

Then turned away with saddened hearts. 

And brows of sadness too ; 
And tears 't were wrung from manly eyes, 

Now spoke their last adieu. 



80 ELEGIAC LINES. 

And thou, O sorrowing mother ! thou — 
What anguish hast thou known ! 

And how has cruel destiny 
Thy fondest hopes o'erthrown ! 

Did dark, prophetic visions come 

To warn thee of his fate ? 
And didst thou dream, ere three moons passed 

Thou shouldst be desolate ? 

Ah, no ! for hope is ever strong 
And bright within the breast. 

And phantoms ever lure us on. 
And say we shall be blest. 

And blest, indeed, thou yet shalt be, 

In that bright heaven to which he 's gone : 

It is no idle promise now. 

It is no phantom, lures thee on. 



TO A NEGLECTED ARTIST 



Divinest Art ! the stars above 
Were fated on thy birth to shine ! 

Oh, born of beauty and of love, 
What early poetry was thine ! " 



Have you been abroad to a far-ofi" land, 

To win for yourself a name ? 
With an aching heart 'neath a foreign sky, 

Have you toiled for the breath of fame ? 

If not, then away with your easel now, 
Your paint and your pencils too ; 

For, could you draw with a mightier skill 
Than the art of a Kaphael knew, 



82 TO A NEGLECTED ARTIST. 

'T would avail you not: they would pass you by, 

They would coldly hurry on 
To one who had come from a distant clime — 

A rare and a wondrous one. 

But you say, you love your native land ; 

That her hills, all bathed in light, 
Are scenes that an artist holds most dear — 

A fair and a lovely sight. 

'T is true ; we can boast of noble trees, 
Broad streams, and fairest flowers ; 

That a thousand varied beauties dwell 
In this happy land of ours. 

But heed them not — away ! away ! 

Though the loving and the true 
Should linger around with a holy spell, 

Oh, bid them a long adieu ! 

But you say, that your mother's heart would break ; 

That you are her only stay ; 
That her cheek would pale, and her eye grow dim. 

While you 'd " tempt fame's dangerous way." 



TO A NEGLECTED ARTIST. 83 

Then be content with your lowly lot, 

And time to you may bring 
Something more worthy of your art, 

Than a poet's simple offering. 



I WAS NOT ALWAYS SORROWFUL. 

I WAS not always sorrowful, 

Nor was I always sad ; 
Nay, fond hopes once dwelt in my heart, 

And made my spirit glad. 

But now those hopes have passed away — 

Hopes far too bright to last ; 
They faded when the autumn flowers 

Sank 'neath the autumn blast. 

Those gentle hopes have passed away — 

Hopes unto mortals given, 
That they may have a foretaste, here. 

Of their blest home in heaven . 



I WAS NOT ALWAYS SORROWFUL. 85 

Oh ! once I had a blessed dream, — 

It filled me with delight : — 
A vision full of happiness 

Stole o'er me in the night. 

I thought the absent and the loved 

Was standing by my side, 
In all his youthful loveliness — 

In all his manhood's pride. 

At first, amid a crowd he stood ; 

But quick to me he came. 
And, in his soft, endearing tone, 

He fondly breathed my name. 

I started up — I would not lose 

For worlds a sino-le word ; 
For every feeling of my soul 

By that dear voice w^as stirred. 

He said — "Oh ! I am happy now, — 

Far happier than when here ; 
Then cease to wear a saddened brow. 

Or shed for me a tear. 



86 I WAS NOT ALWAYS SORROWFUL. 

" For could you see my liappy home — 
Those mansions of the blest, 

Where all can hang confidingly 
Upon their Saviour's breast, 

'' You would not wish to call me back 

To this dark world of woe ; 
Not e'en thy voice could bid me stay, — 

Then, dear one, let me go." 

Long years have passed since that dear form 

Last lingered on my sight. 
And Hope hath woven many a dream 

To cheer the gloom of night ; 

But never to my spirit yet. 
One, half so sweet, was given, 

As that which came with gentle hopes 
To point my soul to heaven. 



LINES 

Addressed to my Sister at School. 



" The flush of youth soon passes from the face, 
The spells of Fancy from the mind depart; 
The form may lose its symmetry and grace, 
But time can claim no victory o'er the heart." 

Mrs. Dinnies. 



Dear sister ! could I bring to thee 

Gems from the pm-est mine, 
And all the treasures of the earth 

In one great whole combine, 
A better, nay a holier gift, 

To thee could not be given. 
Than that which education brings. 

With a true faith in heaven. 



LINES. 

These blessings are within thy grasp, 

Oh ! haste to seize them now ; 
May modest virtue fill thy heart, 

And lam-els crown thy brow ! 
From the church spires by thy side, 

Goes forth the voice of prayer. 
And thou mayst sing thy hymns of praise 

Free as the birds of air. 



The bird that gaily sings her song. 

And fluttering spreads her wing, 
Breathes not a purer air than thou — 

May not more freely sing. 
Born 'neath the happiest sky on earth, 

What homage shouldst thou render 
To Him, who with such holy care 

Watches thy years so tender. 



And now in youth, in early youth. 
Indulge not freaks of folly. 

Lest after years should bring to thee 
Regret and melancholy : 



LINES. 89 



But prize thy blessings, prize them well, 
Oh ! clasp them to thy heart ; 

And never, never, e'en through life. 
From these best gifts depart. 



MUSINGS, 



" The poor, oppressed, honest man, 
Had never sure been born, 
Had there not been some recompense, 
To comfort those that mourn." 

Burns. 



'T WAS by a flowing river, on a green and mossy bed, 

I, in silent sadness, pondered, and reclined my weary head ; 

My thoughts went flowing, flowing like a wild and rapid 

stream. 
But it was no theme of fancy — no sweet, poetic dream 

That pressed upon my spirit, but the bitter ills of life, 
With which this world, though beautiful, is ever, ever rife : 
'T was of the widowed mother, who toils both day and night, 
To feed her orphan children, and earn her widow's mite. 



MUSINGS. 91 

With a worn and weary spirit, with a sad and aching brow, 
To the bitter ills of poverty how hardly does she bow ! 
Oh ! cruel are the heartless ones, who could the poor oppress, 
Nor ever seek to aid them, amid their deep distress. 

The rich, the gay, the happy, how swiftly do they glide 
Adown the sunny stream of life, in plenteousness and pride ; 
They seldom think upon the poor, who toil from year to year, 
With heavy grief upon their hearts, and none their tasks to 
cheer. 

1^0 bright dreams of the future, no sweet dreams of the past, 
But a fund of bitter memories, their spirits overcast ; 
How languidly the needle is plied with bitter pain, — 
Comes sickness, direst evil ! amid the meager train. 

Oh ! many are the sorrows that press upon the poor : 

May God, who watches o'er them, give them strength but to 

endure ; 
And when their days are ended, may they dwell amid the blest. 
And hear the welcome summons, "Come, ye weary ones, and 

rest." 



THE GIFT. 

You ask of me a lock of hair : 
E'en then so let it be, — 

A fond memento of my love, 
A gift, dear friend, for thee. 

Otliers may seek for gaudy toys. 
And some for jewels rare. 

But as a pledge of friendship, I 
Will give a lock of hair. 

Wilt thou not lay it with thy gifts 
Of fond friends far from thee. 

And prize it for the giver's sake. 
Thy absent friend, H. T. ? 



SONG OF THE MOUNTAIN MAID. 

I DWELL in the mountains, far away 

From the busy scenes of strife, 
"Where the flowers in their shadowy beauty lay, 

And the air is with fragrance rife ; 
Where the ringdove fills the groves with song, 

And all the birds of spring 
Their lovely matin notes prolong, 

"While the dew 's on each glittering wing. 

A lovely and sheltered cot is mine. 
Closed round with its summer screen 

Of many a fair and clustering vine, 
On a carpet of tufted green : 



94 SONG OF THE MOUNTAIN MAID. 

My father and mother bless me oft, 
For I am their only child ; 

And their gentle accents, sweet and soft, 
Bring joy to the mountains wild. 



THE CONTRAST. 

" Oh, listen in mercy, ye sons of wealth, 

Basking in comfort, and glowing with health ! 
Give whatever ye can spare, and be ye sure. 
He serveth his Master who aideth the poor." 

Eliza Cook. 

The night was cold, and drear, and shrill 
The winds blew loud o'er heath and hill ; 
The darkening clouds were gathering fast, 
And strong trees bowed 'neath the sullen blast ; 
While a few pale stars with faint ray shone 
O'er a lowly cot and a stately home. 

That stately home was a palace fair, 
And comfort and light and warmth were there. 
And young feet danced with footsteps light. 
And fair forms shone in the clear lamp-light ; 
No fears for them had the storm without — 
They answered it oft with a merry shout. 



96 THE CONTRAST. 

But a clifierent place was the bumble sbed 
Wbere tbe widow toiled for her daily bread : 
Lonely she sat by ber scant fireside, 
And with weary fingers ber needle plied ; 
While the feathery snow came drifting through, 
And the winds more loudly and wildly blew. 



With quiet step to the cradle she crept, 
Where her youngest, fairest darling slept, 
And o'er it bent with a look of love, 
Like a parent bird o'er a nestled dove. 
" Sleep, dearest, sleep," she murmured low. 
In the broken tones of grief and woe : 



" In yon castle proud there are feastings fair, 
For the birth-night 's come of their noble heir, 
And he proudly stands in his manhood's age, 
And claims broad lands for his heritage. 
I, too, had a son, — but he 's gone from me, 
They have made his grave 'neath the church-yard 
tree. 



THE CONTRAST. 97 

Oh ! little ye think, ye rich and great, 

As ye proudly revel in halls of state, 
Of the lone and poor, who pine and die 

'Neath the chilling blasts of a winter sky ! 
When a few kind words, and a little part 

Of your gold, might save a broken heart. 

9 



LINES TO A BIRD. 

Thou pretty, little, sparkling bird ! 

Why dost tliou come so near ? 
Say, dost thou see me quite alone, 

And come my heart to cheer ? 

'T is true, I do seem quite alone : 

But, ah ! it is not so ; 
For lofty thoughts are in my heart, 

Nor would I let them go, 

To mingle with the giddy ones, 
"Who bow at fashion's shrine ; 

For they the diamonds only wear, 
While I secure the mine. 



TO A BIRD. 99 

Then, as they gaily float along, 

I '11 sing this song for thee ; 
But, oh ! it is not half so sweet 

As thine own minstrelsy. 



THE SKEPTIC'S LAST NIGHT. 

'T WAS night, the midnight hour : 
A thousand stars lit up the calm blue vault 
Of heaven. The moon, so fitly named 
The Eegent of the sky, sat like a queen 
Amid her glittering train, shedding her 
Silvery rays upon a stately mansion. 
One of England's proudest homes. Around were 
Noble trees, yea, rugged oaks, that bore upon 
Their brows the age of centuries ; broad walks, 
Keflecting back a thousand rays from many 
Tinted shells ; sweet flowers, whose gentle breath 
Went floating out like incense on the air ; 
Bright founts and lovely streams were murmuring 
On, like strains of distant music. All, all 
Was hushed ; no sound disturbed the sleeping 



THE skeptic's last N I G PI T . 101 

Beauty of the scene. But who is this, that 

Comes with pallid cheek and feverish brow, 

And gazes out upon the midnight sky, 

As though he sought to read his destiny ? 

Silent, with folded arms, he stood : but now 

He speaks — "Man's race is short, short from the cradle 

To the tomb ; and then he sleeps forever. 

The Grecian sages thought not thus, — but they 

Were ' dreaming bigots ;' — The Christian's hope 's an 

Idle mockery." 

" Presumptuous man ! vain dreamer 
Of unholy dreams ! away with such a creed !" 
Wildly he started back, more pallid grew 
His brow ; for, lo ! beside him stood a female 
Form, clad in the cold habiliments of 
Death. Then Memory, faithful to her trust. 
Rushed o'er his guilty soul, and conjured 
Up the past. 

" Dim, shadowy Form !" he murmured — 
" Pale visitant of other days ! what dost 
Thou here ? Say, dost thou come to mock me with 
The past, or warn me of the future ?" 



102 THE SKEPTIC\S LAST NIGHT. 

Again 
The Specter spoke — "Proud man ! thy days are numbered 
Ere the sun shall rise and set and rise again, 
Thou wilt be far hence ; thy disembodied 
Spirit will have passed into the presence of that God 
Whom thoUj with impious breath, hast dared to 
Scorn. Ah ! we shall meet again at that dread 
Bar, where all are equal. And now, farewell. 
Thou, who didst whisper in mine ear words 
Poisonous as the deadly Upas tree. 
Whose very shades are death ! — didst rob my youth 
Of innocence, betray my too confiding 
Love, and leave me in a world so dark, that 
Not one ray of light e'er pierced its dreadful 
Gloom ! — farewell ! But ere I go, the spirit 
Of an erring but redeemed mortal. 
Bids me tell thee, thou mayst yet repent 
And live." 

Slowly the dim Form faded from 
His sight. Silent he sought his lonely couch, 
To toss all night in restless dreams. 



GEORGIANA. 



" Death found strange beauty on that cherub brow, 

And dashed it out." — 

Mrs. Siggurnev. 



They laid her in her little grave, 
With flowers upon her breast, — 

A lovely blossom for the sky. 
So fragile yet so blest. 

In shadowy beauty o'er her brow. 

The lifelike tresses lay ; 
Her eyes were closed, as closed in sleep — 

Death scarce had dimmed their ray. 

We grieved to lay the gentle child 

Within the darkening tomb, 
When the sweet flowers were putting forth 

Their loveliness and bloom. 



104 R R G T A N A . 

But, all ! it was a selfish grief : 
In yon bright world of bliss, 

She '11 never know the bitter care 
That dims our path in this. 



PUESENTIMENTS, 

Oh ! why this utter loneliness of heart ! 

These deep, wild throbbings, and these tears that start — 

This heavy sorrow spurning all control, 

And painful thoughts which crowd upon the soul ? 

And why these shadows, which around me gleam, 
Like the wild phantoms of a midnight dream, 
"With words half spoken, thoughts but half expressed, 
Kobbing my days of peace, my nights of rest ? 

10 



ANNIE ADAIR. 

'^ There 's not in this wide world" 

A maiden more fair 
Than the one I love best, 

My sweet Annie Adair ! 

Soft, soft are her tresses 

Of fair golden hue, 
But more soft are her bright eyes 

Of loveliest blue. 

Her form 's like a sylph. 

Her step 's like a fawn, 
As gaily she trips 

Over meadow and lawn. 



ANNIE A D A I K . IQT 

The violet scarce bends 

'Neath her delicate tread, 
And the lily just bows down 

Its beautiful head. 

There 's not in this wide world 

A maiden more fair 
Than the one I love best, 

My sweet Annie Adair ! 



LINES 

On being showna Tkess of Hair 

IJVSCIIIBED TO MRS. A. SMALLEY, OF KENTUCKY. 

This little tress of soft, fair hair 

I Ve kept for many years, 
Embalmed it with a mother's love. 

And watered it with tears. 

With trembling hand I severed it 

From off a brow so fair : — 
Alas ! of all so beautiful. 

This death alone could spare 



THE TRESS OF HAIR. 109 j 



Unto mj aching frenzied sight ! 

Each tear I would repress : 
But vain ; for woman's grief breaks forth 



In gushing tenderness. 



A fragile plant to nie was given ; 

I nurtured from its birth, 
And watched to see my flower expand — 

It blooms, but not on earth. 

I found it was not given to me — 

To me 't was only lent ; 
And now, with heavenly choirs above, 

My radiant flower is blent. 

Be still, be still, each murmuring thought ; 

Dost hear that music's flow ? 
More sweetly stealing o'er my soul 

Than touch of lute-chords low. 

It is my darling's voice I hear ; 

It thrills with rapture wild : 
Fain would I break these bonds of clay, 

To clasp my angel child. 



110 THE TRESS OP HAIR. 

But I am earthly, earth's dark stain 

Is on my spirit still : 
Unmrnnnuringly I bow my head — 

"My Father, 't is thy will." 



LINES 

Accompanying a Bouquet op Lilies and Koses 



In eastern lands they talk in flowers. 

In garlands they tell their loves and cares.'" 



N"o purer offering could I bring 
To lay, sweet lady, on thy shrine, 

Than this fair gift of humble flowers, 
This simple, floral gift of mine. 

An emblem of thyself, fair girl, 

They bloom in beauty and in pride ! 

The Kose, though queen of all the flowers. 
An humbler flower will ne'er deride ; 



112 THE BOUQUET. 

But ever spreads its sheltering leaves 
To screen the Lily's drooping head : 

Be this thy task, O gentle maid ! 
To cheer the lone whose hopes have fled, 



THE CAPTIVE WARRIOR'S LAMENT 



• My limbs are bowed, though not with toil, 

But rusted with a vile repose ; 
For they have been a dungeon's spoil, 
And mine has been the fate of those 
To whom the goodly earth and air 
Are banned and barred — forbidden fare." 

Byrox — Prisoner of Chillon. 



Again the morning sun returns, 
To gild the eastern sky, 

Yet still, a captive lone I pine, 
A captive must I die ! 



Oh ! shall I never tread again. 

With step and spirit free. 
The hills I 've trod a thousand times, 

In days of boyhood's glee ? 



114 THE CAPTIVE WARRIOR's LAMENT 



The poorest serf can idly roam, 
And none will ask him why ; 

Whilst I, a warrior true and tried, 
A helpless captive lie ! 



Oh 1 for my steed, my noble steed. 

My good and gallant gray, 
To bear me to the battle-field, 

Or perish by the way I 



Methinks it is a glorious death, 

In freedom's cause to die. 
While shouts of victory round us peal, 

And foes before us fly ; 



But thus to linger day by day. 
Amid this dungeon's gloom. 

This sepulcher of all my hopes, 
This worse than living tomb ! 



1 



THE CAPTIVE WAERIOR's LAMENT. 115 

AYhat ! drops of weakness, will ye come ? 

No shame that ye should start ; 
The tear that stains a warrior's cheek 

Is from a patriot's heart. 



THE NEGLECTED WIFE. 

" Is it him ? is it him ? — do I hear his step ?" 
And with trembling haste to the window she crept 
" No, 't was but the rustling of the breeze 
'Mid the autumn woods, as they cast their leaves. 

" I have waited long, I have looked in vain — 
O God ! will he never return again ?" 
Long, long had she stood by the casement there, 
With her settled look of deep despair ; 

Ever her cheek would flush and pale 
As she heard the rude winds of the early gale : 
" He is gone!" once more she murmured in pain, 
" He is gone, and I dare not even complain. 



THE NEGLECTED WIFE. 117 

" Just, just is thj sentence, O God ! and I bow 
With a broken spirit before thee now, 
Had I heeded the words by my father spoken, 
Or a mother's prayer ere her heart had broken ; 

" ISTor turned a deaf ear to a brother brave, 
Nor slighted the warning he kindly gave ; 
I should not have wept, and wept in vain, 
For that faithless one to return again." 



IRENE. 

" A flower unwithered, yet prepared to die." 

Sweet Irene, dear and precious flower. 
Given but to cheer a little hour ! 
As gazing on thy tender face, 
I all thine infant beauty trace. 
How does my anguished bosom sigh. 
That aught so beautiful could die. 

And yet, perhaps, 't were best 't is so- 
Shielded from earthly pain and woe : 
A mother's tear, that holy drop. 
For thee, sweet child, is offered up. 



I 11 E N K . 119 



A father's lietirt with grief is bowed, 
And gentle children round thee crowd ; 
Fond brothers mourn thy exit here, 
An angel sister greets thee there ; 
Weak words of mine but ill can tell 
Thy loss, sweet Irene — now farewell ! 



THE MISSIONARIES. 

PART FIRST. 

'T WAS evening : all was calm and still ; 
!N"o sound save tlie lone whippowil 
Broke on the stillness of that hour, 
Within that gloomy woodland bower ; 
Fair Cynthia shone with ray serene 
O'er hill and valley, clothed in green ; 
And hill and valley, lake and wood. 
Were wrapped in deepest solitude. 

The stars were round their nightly queen, 
Arrayed in splendid silvery sheen, 
And Nature in her loveliest mood, 
Seemed holding converse with the good. 



THE MISSIONARIES. 121 

It was, indeed, a lovely night ! 
The wild birds all had winged their flight 
Home, to their lofty nests on high, 
Beneath the broad and azure sky. 

The Indian in his wigwam lay. 
Dreaming the unconscious hours away ; 
And all was hushed, and not a sound 
Disturbed the solemn shades around. 
But hark ! a voice breaks on the ear. 
And fills the heart with sudden fear ; 
And, lo ! beside that rock-bound shore. 
Strange forms are seen, ne'er seen before. 

And now, with mast and pennon fair, 
A stately ship was standing there, — • 
Which, on that waste of waters wide. 
Before, was never seen to glide. 
The Indian, startled with afii'ight. 
Looked out upon the brow of night. 
And quickly springing from the ground, 
Made the wild woods reecho round. 



11 



122 THE MISSIONARIES. 

'' Wake, brother ! wake 1 the White Man 's come 
To drive us from om- mountain home ; 
And soon, with fierce and bloody hand. 
They'll force us from our own loved land 1" 
He boldly spoke, and by them stood, 
Amid that deep embowering wood. 
With folded arms and haughty head. 
Then sternly to their leader said — • 

" What brings thee, pale-faced stranger! here ? 

To hunt with us the bounding deer ? 

Or dost thou think by cruel art, 

We from our hunting grounds will part ? 

Or 'neath the fir-tree and the pine. 

Wilt traffic here with rum and wine?" 

The stranger quickly gave his hand. 

And thus replied in accents bland : — • 

" We seek not to oppress the brave. 
Or drive them to a bloody grave ; 
And though no foot of land is ours. 
We do not want your woodland bowers ; 



THE MISSIONARIES. 123 

The fatal wine we never sip, 
Or place it to oiir brother's lip : 
No, we have come far o'er the wave, 
To tell thee, Jesus died to save." 

" We for his sake count all things loss ; — 
Leave home and country for the cross ; 
Yes, gladly bade them all farewell, 
That we the wondrous tale might tell, 
Repeat the story of his birth. 
His love to fallen sons of earth — 
Tell how that false and murderous crew, 
With vengeful hands, their Master slew — 



" Of Judas speak, that erring one. 
Who 's justly called perdition's son. 
Who, with his false and flattering breath, 
Betrayed his Master unto death. 
O God of mercy ! grant me grace. 
To teach this dark benighted race 
That Jesus lives and reigns above. 
And rules in majesty and love !" 



124 THE MISSIONARIES. 



PART SECOND. 

Kind reader ! once again we meet 
Each other, once more fondly greet. 
It is not now at gentle even, 
While stars bedeck the vault of heaven, — 
No, Sol's bright rays have reached the sky, 
And morn's first smile just greets the eye ; 
A winding horn is loudly heard. 
Resounding through a neighboring wood. 

And now, x^erhaps, my readers ween 

I would describe a hunting scene ! 

Not mine, to tell of idle sport, 

Or chaste Diana's votaries court, — 

In solemn truths I hope to deal, 

"With prayer that I each truth may feel — 

Oh, may each word that I impart 

Shed hallowed radiance round the heart! 



Now, gentle reader, bend thine ear. 
For angels keep their vigils here ; 



THE jVI I S S 1 N A R I E S . 125 

And 'mid the forest, I have found 

A spot of consecrated ground. 

Now stretch thine eve o'er yonder plain, 

O'er yonder sloping wide domain, 

And look again, upon the sod 

They 've pitched their tents to worship God. 

'' They ! whom ?" methinks I hear you say — 
They who came o'er the watery way ?" 
No, but the converts God has given 
To these devoted sons of heaven ; 
Behold, a band of warriors brave. 

All stately, dignified, and grave ; 
Slowly they wend their way along. 
Chanting aloud a solemn song. 
List ! list ! and you their lay may hear, 
As they approach — draw near, draw near. 

" Our weapons of warfare we 've grounded, 

'Gainst Jesus no longer we fight. 
But join now in deep adoration 

To our Saviour in solemn delight. 



126 THE MISSIONARIES. 

" Oh ! blest be the day when the White Man 
First sought 'mid our forests to roam, 

Forsaking the land of his birthplace, 
And leaving his own cherished home. 

" In ignorance and darkness w^e wandered, 
No man for our souls seemed to care ; 

But what will not truth oft accomplish. 
Accompanied by teaching and prayer ?" 

A new scene now awaits our view, 

A scene of all that 's good and true : 

A ring was formed, where on the ground 

Benches and chairs were strewn around ; 

A table in the center stood, 

Eoughly formed of oaken wood ; 

The minister was standing there. 

Lost in deep thoughtfulness and prayer. 

An emblem in his hand he bore, 
A pledge of love, which ne'er before 
Had the untutored forest child 
Beheld, within that western wild ; 



THE MISSIONARIES. 127 

And now he took the bread, and brake, 
And kindly bade the Red Man take, — 
" Memorial of his love for thee ; 
Do this. He said, and think of me." 

They ate the bread, and drank the wine, 
And thought upon that glorious Yine ; 
And as they rose, each wood and glen 
Eeechoed with a loud " Amen !" 



I WILL HOPE. 

I WILL hope, I will hope, 
Though my pathway be set 

With the darkest of sorrows, 
And deepest regret. 

I will hope, I will hope, 

Though youth's visions may flee ; 
I '11 believe there is something 

In future for me. 

I will launch ray frail bark, 

I will breast every gale. 
Though my rudder be riven, 

And shattered my sail. 



I WILL HOPE. 120 



Hope's anchor shall guide me, 

And bring me aright. 
When the world's fleeting shadows 

Shall fade from my sight. 

12 



I SHALL THINK OF THEE 

I SHALL tliink of thee at morning, 
When the birds sing loud and free, 

And the carol of their pleasant tones 
Will mind me oft of thee. 

I shall think of thee at noontide, 
When the sun shines bright and high— 

The language of thy gentle voice, 
And of thy soft, dark eye. 

I shall think of thee at spring-time, 
When the flowers bud and bloom, 

And shed abroad their fragrance rare, 
With beauty and perfume. 



li 



I SHALL THINK OF THEE. 131 

And when July's hot, sultry sky 

Shall mind me spring is past, 
I '11 think, like thy affection, 

' T was bright, but could not last. 



WELCOME TO KOSSUTH 



' Go, ring the bells, and fire the guns, 
And fling the starry banner out ; 

Shout, 'Freedom V till your lisping ones 
Give back their cradle shout." 

Whittier. 



Welcome, thou noble cliief ! 

Welcome to Freedom's shore ! 
A million freemen greet thee now, 

On fair Columbia's shore. 

Welcome to Freedom's land ! 

Om^ stars and stripes, nnfurled, 
Invite thee to a peaceful home, 
Within our western world. 



WELCOME TO KOSSUTH. 133 

Cut light the billows, thoii fair ship — 

A precious freight is thine ; 
Thou bearest an exiled Patriot 

To Freedom's holy shrine ; 

Thou bearest a warrior from afar, 

Freed from a galling chain, 
And withered be the arm that seeks 

To bind the brave ag^in. 

Children of Hungary ! thy wrongs 

Awake our pitying care ; 
At morn, at night, at noon, at eve, 

We breathe for thee a prayer, — 

That thou mayst yet be free indeed. 

Free as the mountain breeze 
That plays upon our own broad streams. 

And murmurs 'mid our trees. 

May Freedom's watchword yet ring out 

Amid thy hills so blue ; 
And thine be yet the happiest home 

That freemen ever knew. 



134 WELCOME TO KOSSUTH. 

Austria ! thy dark, despotic power 

Is resting over all ; 
But false ambition 's round thee thrown, 

And sure will be thy fall. 

A nation's tears are on thee now, 
Widows and orphans weep, 

And stern men in their souls have vowed 
Their high resolves to keep. 



[ As I sat alone by my chamber window, a few evenings after the 
death of a beloved friend, a beautiful bird, of a peculiar kind, 
came and stood on my work-basket. There was something so 
plaintive in its low, melancholy note, it touched a chord of 
sympathy, and immediately turning over the leaves of my 
Scrap-Book, I inserted the following lines.] 



BIRD OF THE SUMMER 

Bkight bird of the summer ! 

From whence hast thou flown ? 
Ah ! speak, pretty warbler, — 

Art left all alone ? 

Have thy playmates all left thee ? 

Thy companions all gone ? 
Come, then, to this bosom — 

I too am alone ! 



136 BIRD OF THE SUMMER. 

Not so, in the proud clay of pomp and of pride, 
All courted my favor, all sought the gay bride ; 
But now, I in sadness am left here to mourn. 
And grieve for the joys that can never return. 

Then stay, pretty warbler, and sing me a song ! 
Oh ! sing me a requiem for joys that are gone ! 
Thy beautiful notes, though so plaintive and sad. 
Will fall on mine ear, and make my heart glad. 

Thou wilt not ! thou sayest ? 

Then unhurt fly away. 
O'er mountain and stream, — 

Thy flight I '11 not stay : 

But my hopes shall go with thee, 

And wish to the last, 
Like thee, pretty one, 

I could fly from the past. 



STANZAS TO 



Ah ! proud and cold 's thy every look, 

And haughty is thy smile ; 
Yet honeyed words are on thy tongue, 

Placed there but to beguile 

My woman's weakness. But 't is vain ; 

This heart can never bend, 
Though once it had a foolish dream. 

With thine, proud one, to blend. 

But it has fled from out my heart. 

Ah ! fled into the past ! 
And visions, false as they were vain, 

]N"o more my soul o'ercast. 



138 STANZAS TO 



Thy syren voice no more can cliarra 

A heart so fond as mine ; 
Whose greatest grief is that it laid 

An offering on thy shrine — 

The offering of a guileless heart, 

Thy falsehood first awoke ! 
By every word that love held dear, 

To me in kindness spoke, — 

By every word in fondness said, — 

By every flattering tone, 
With which you sought to lure my heart. 

And leave it then alone, — 

I tell thee that I scorn thee now. 
Far more than words can speak ; 

Thou 'It read it in my flashing eye, 
And on my burning cheek. 

Thou 'It never know how long it took 

To break the fearful chain ; 
But well thou knowest 'tis not for thee 

To bind this heart again. 



8TANZAS TO 139 

Metliinks it was a poor, mean boast, 

That thou hadst cast a spell 
Around a fond, weak girl, who " loved, 

Not wisely, but too well." 



AN APPEAL TO QUEEN VICTORIA IN BEHALF OF THE IHISII. 



WRITTEN DURING- THE LATE FAMINE IN IRELAND. 



' The oats were blighted on the stalk, — 

The corn before its bloom, — 
And many a hand that held the plow 

Is pulseless in the tomb ! 
There is no playing in the streets— 

The haggard children move 
Like mournful phantoms, mute and slow, 
Uncheered by hope or love." 

Mrs. Sigourney. 



Oil ! take the bauble from thy brow,- 
Yes, lift it from thy head, — 

And sell those costly gems of thine, 
And buy thy people bread ! 



APPEAL TO QUEEN VICTORIA. 141 

What ! does indignant shame light up 

That queenlike brow of thine ? 
And dost thou deem an insult lurks 

In every written line ? 

Oh, lady ! think thee of the tears 

Thy starving people shed, 
As their pale children gather round, 

And beg in vain for bread. 

You gaze upon your princely band 

Of children in their pride, 
As, blest with every luxury. 

Before your throne they glide ; 

And think you not that they too feel 

A deep, deep love for theirs, 
Although of penury and want 

They are the bitter heirs ? 

Yes, many an Irish mother, now, 

Beholds her starving child ! 
And gazes on its agony. 

Until her brain grows wild. 



142 APPEAL TO QUEEN VICTORIA 

And thou, a woman, and a queen, 
Say, canst thou hesitate 

To save thy people from their woe. 
Before it be too late ? 

In aiding them, thou too mayst save 
Thy valued crown to thee ; 

For even now the cry is heard, 
" Make w^ay for liberty !" 



LINES 

Addressed to a Stranger whom I met on the Cars 



BY REQUEST 



'Mid careless brows, and thouglitless ones, 
And some 't were full of care ; 

Some dark, as 'neath an Indian clime, 
Some lovely, young and fair ; 

Some bound unto a happy home, 
With wife and children dear ; 

Others, deep bearing in their hearts. 
The record of despair ; 



144 TO A STRANGER. 



I noted tliee, amid tlie crowd — 
"With them, but of them not ; 

Nor time nor distance can efiace, 
Or from my memory blot 



Thy sable robe, thy saddened brow. 
Thy sweet, though pensive, smile,- 

Manners of winning tenderness, 
That spoke thee free from guile. 

Genius, proud genius, sat enthroned 

Upon thy woman's brow ; 
I have thy picture in my mind, — 

I 'm gazing on it now. 

There is a sympathy of soul, 
That draws us to our kind ; 

'T is not in w^ords, or looks, or deeds, 
'T is mind, embracing mind. 

A deeper sympathy is ours ; 

For sorrow's saddening sway 
Has swept across our pathways both. 

With manv a chillinir rav. 



TOASTRANGER. 145 

Yet still a tie to tliee remains ; 



A daughter, young and fair, 

Nestles, as with an angel's wing. 

And stays thy passage here. 

But lonely is the stranger's heart, — 

And lonely must she be, 
Uncheered by all, save friendship's smiles, 

And these she asks of thee ? 



13 



TO A COaUETTE. 



" Oh, why did you weave this wild spell round my heart ? 
Why give me those hopes that so soon must depart ? 
Did you think, that like others, my spirit could bend. 
And be in a moment a lover or friend V 



I WITH the rest have bowed to thee, 

With all a lover's pride, 
Have gazed upon that lovely brow, 

And worshiped by thy side ; 

I never told thee half my love, 
My tongue could not reveal 

The deep, wild passion of my heart ,- 
Such as thou ne'er couldst feel. 



TOACOQUETTE. 147 

Cold-hearted girl ! thou 'It never know 

How deep this heart was wrung, — 
Or how thy dark ingratitude 

My trusting spirit stung. 



LINES 
On the Death of Mrs. E. Brown 

Lady, when first I looked on thee, 

I little thought so soon 
That I, amid a weeping train, 

Should follow to thy tomb. 
Far from the home that gave thee birth, — 

Friends that would bid thee stay, — 
Surrounded by a stranger band. 

Thy spirit passed away. 

Though strangers stood around thy bier, 

Full many a tear was shed, 
That one so young, and lovely too, 

Must sleep among the dead. 



ON THE DEATH OF MRS. E. BROWN, 149 

And he, the husband of thy heart, 
O'er thy low death-couch bent, 
While sorrow, far too deep for words. 
His anguished spirit rent. 

But ah ! ye can not call her back, — 

Dear friends ! your tears are vain ; 
Her eyes are closed, nor will they ope 

To earth's vain things again. 
But though on earth she lives no more. 

In heaven she liveth ever. 
And ye, if faithful, soon shall meet. 

Where naught fond friends can sever. 



AN INVOCATION. 



" Thou hast all too much unrest, • 
Haunted by vain hopes and fears ; 
Though thy cheek with smiles be drest, 
Yet that cheek is wet with tears." 

L. E. L. 



Bind me not, O gentle spirit ! 

With thy silken cords so soft ; 
All thy charms are but illusions, 
For thou hast deceived so oft ! 

Once I bowed with adoration 
At a fair and gentle shrine, — 

Loved with wild impassioned fondness. 
Dreaming not of shame or crime. 



AN INVOCATION. 151 

But the blissful trance soon ended, 

Soon I from my dream awoke, 
Like the strong man bound in fetters. 

Bending 'neath a heavy yoke. 

Time passed on, and hope's sweet visions 
Clustered once more round my home, 

Tempting me to scenes of gladness, 
Bidding me from grief to roam. 

Now, exulting in my freedom. 

Like a bird of fearless wing, 
I can carol in my gladness. 

Songs before I could not sing. 

Then bind me not, O gentle spirit ! 

Li thy silken chains so sweet, — 
They may do for happier spirits. 

But for mine they 're all unmeet. 



AWARE, AWAKE, MY GENTLE MUSE! 

Awake, awake, my gentle Muse ! 

Awake, awake and sing ; 
The purest tributes of thy verse, 

I call on thee to bring. 
I ask not gems, nor jewels rare, 

"Nov diamonds flashing bright. 
A purer, holier gift be mine — 

The mind's calm, steadfast light. 

O Lord, I seek to have each thought 

Supremely stayed on Thee ; 
Surely Thou canst the gift impart, 

And make my spirit free — 
Free from the vain alluring things. 

That bow the spirit down. 
Strange ! that such trifles please the sight. 

Heir of a glorious crown ! 



14 



WITHERED VIOLETS, 

" Violets ! deep-blue violets ! 
April's loveliest coronets ! 
There are no flowers grow in the vale, 
Kissed by the dew, waved by the gale— 
None by the dew of the twilight wet, 
So sweet as the deep-blue violet." 

L. E. L. 

Oh, give me back those faded flowers ! 

For dearly do I prize 
Those little violets, which look up 
. "With blue and starry eyes. 
Oh, give them back, nor deem me weak, 

That I should ask of thee 
The flowers which I so long have kept — ' 

His last, last gift to me. 



154 WITHERED VIOLETS. 

We stood beside a silvery stream, 

The waters running clear, 
My heart all full of bitter grief. 

And in mine eye a tear. 
'T was then he culled those lovely flowers. 

So fragile yet so sweet, 
And bade me keep them for his sake 

Till we again should meet. 

In mirrored beauty, still that stream 

Goes sweetly murmuring on. 
Yet all those flowers have faded quite. 

Ah, perished one by one ; 
And still the giver lingers still 

Upon the stormy main. 
While I sit by our silent hearth. 

And wish him back again. 



He said that I must happy be. 

When he was far away ; 
But who can cheer my lonely heart. 

Or bid the tear-drops stay ? 



4 



WITHERED VIOLETS. I55 

None, none ! — until he comes again 

From off the stormy sea, 
With treasured sadness, I will keep 

His last, last gift to me. 



RELIGION. 

Keligion ! pure and heavenly guest, 
Possessed of thee, I feel I 'm blest ! 
Though every other hope depart, 
Still may I clasp thee to my heart. 

"When sickness, sorrow, pain, or dread. 
Had gathered thickly o'er my head, 
Ye bade the waves of sorrow cease, 
And pointed to the paths of peace. 

When hopes that o'er my spirit threw 
A radiant light, like evening dew. 
Had faded from the earth away. 
Swift as a meteor's passing ray,— 



RELIGION. 157 

One angel form still lingered near, 
With joy my wounded heart to cheer, — 
One angel friend in mercy came, — 
Religion was her heavenly name. 

Then never, never, may I stray 
From this dear, safe, and pleasant way I 
But e'en in death its Author bless, 
And sink to sleep in happiness ! 



[ My mother and step-motlier sleep side by side in tlie village 
cliurcli-yard of my native home. ] 



HALLOWED GROUND. 

Sister ! this is a hallowed spot : 

Here lowly bend with me, 
Above their graves, where side by side 

They sleep so peacefully. 

Memorials of departed worth 

It has been mine to bring, 
And lay upon a shrine of tears — 

A poet's offering. 



I 



HALLO AV ED GROUND. I59 

But now, a holier task is mine ; 

A daughter's heart would pay 
This grateful tribute, while she weaves 

A short and simple lay. 

I was too young to know my loss. 

When my own mother died ; 
But well I learned to ]3rize the worth 

Of this one by her side. 

Sister ! do you remember, dear, 

The last sad hour we kept 
Our nightly vigils round her bed, 

And watched while others slept ? 

Yes, — though to distant lands you go, 

To many a distant spot, — 
I know the memory of that hour 

Will never be forgot. 

But as the ancients would embalm 

Their friends when life was fled, 
So we will bear within our hearts 

The memory of the dead. 



A WISH. 

If I should ask a gift for thee — 
'T would be a guileless heart, 

All full of tender sympathy, 
And free from every art. 

And then I 'd ask another heart 

With thine to fondly blend, 
That thou mightst hold in converse sweet. 

And be to thee a friend. 



STANZAS. 

" But ties around this heart were spun, 
That could not, would not, be undone." 

Ah ! it is but a little while 
Since thou and I first met, 

And yet tliy image on my soul 
Is deeply, firmly set. 

'T is but a little while since thou 
"Wert all unknown to me, 

And now thou art the guiding star 
That rules my destiny. 



162 STANZAS. 

I knew it — felt it — ere I stood 
One moment by tliy side ; 

And witli rebuking sternness sought 
The feeling back to chide. 

But vain — it gathered o'er my heart, 
Like waters o'er the deep ; 

A feeling in my soul was roused 
That would not, could not, sleep. 

I stood amid the young, the proud. 
The gallant and the gay. 

With not a thought for those around, 
And not a word to say. 

I looked in those dark eyes of thine. 
With strange and timid fear. 

And turned away with pallid cheek 
And scarcely hidden tear ; 

For, though thy voice was ever kind 
As friendship's voice could be. 

Others had shared those gentle tones. 
Breathed not alone for me. 



STANZAS. 163 



I think of thee at early morn, 
And dream of thee at night, — 

A day-star set within my soul. 
For ever pure and bright. 

All other hopes may fade away,- 
Life's earliest dreams depart,— 

But thou art graved on memory. 
Enshrined within my heart. 



TO MY LITTLE NIECE. 

Thou art sporting amid the flowers, sweet child, 

And a lovely flower art thou ; 
The rose is budding upon thy cheek. 

And the lily upon thy brow. 

Thine eyes are dark as the bright gazelle's. 

But of just as soft a hue 
As the violet, when it folds its leaves, 

'Neath the starlight and the dew. 

Thou art sporting on, in thy guilelessness. 

That free and joyous thing — 
A happy child, ere the cares of earth 

A shade o'er thy brow can fling. 



TOMYLITTLENIECE. 165 

Long, long mayst tliou be a child at heart, 

As gladsome and as free 
As now thou art, my little niece. 

In the days of thy childhood's glee ! 



APOSTROPHE TO MY HUSBAND 

Sleep on, my own beloved one, 

In thy far distant tomb ! 
Though sorrow shadows o'er each heart 

That mourns thine early doom. 

Sleep on — ^I would not call thee back 

To the cold cares of life ; 
Sleep on, unmindful of the tears 

Of her thou once called wife. 

Sleep on — I would not have thee know 

The fate of one so loved, 
'T would grieve thy proud and generous heart, 

Though in the realms above. 



APOSTROPHE TO MY HUSBAND. 167 

Sleep on, sleep on— -I try to check 

Each murmur of the heart ; 
But yet 't was hard, mine own beloved, 

'T was hard from thee to part. 

'T was hard to bid a long adieu 

To one we loved so well, — 
Ah, hard to say that bitter word, 

That bitter word, " farewell !" 

The anguish of that parting hour 

Is on my spirit now; 
It sends deep sorrow to my heart, 

A shadow to my brow. 

And yet I would not call thee back 

To the cold cares of life, — 
Sleep on, unmindful of the tears 

Of her thou once called wife. 



LOVE. 

O LOVE ! how beautiful thou art ! 

How pure and bright a gem, 
Enshrined in woman's trusting heart, 

A peerless diadem. 

Then choose, my friend, one generous heart. 

Congenial to thine own, — 
Forsake all others for her sake. 

Make there thine altar-throne. 

Let other forms be young and fair, — 

Let other eyes be bright, — 
Turn thou to thine own chosen one. 

With fond and pure delight. 



LOVE. 169 

Friendship, with love, would weave for thee 

A garland rich and rare, 
And in a heart of prayerfulness 

"Would fondly breathe a prayer, 

That sorrow ne'er may cross thy path, 

Or make thy young heart sad ; 
May all thy hopes be joyousness. 

Thy spirit ever glad. 



15 



TO A FRIEND. 

I FEAR me thou hast prized too high 

This simple muse of mine, 
Yet proud, dear lady, will I be 

This humble wreath to twine. 

Poetic flowers are round me now, 

Fair as the buds of spring. 
With eager hand I 'd cull them all — 

For thee an offering. 

But, ah ! they 're mocking to my sight, 
I clasp them, and they 're gone, — 

Of all that proud and rich array 
There now remains but one. 



TO A FRIEND. 171 

One lovely, fair, and fragile flower, 

Still lingers in my sight. 
Filling my soul with pm-est joy, 

Shrouding the gloom of night, — 

'T is friendship : dear and sacred pledge ! 

I bind thee on my heart ; 
Kone other e'er shall know thy place, 

None other share a part. 

Thou hadst a fickle sister, once ; 

"Within my heart a throne 
Was made for her, — I fondly dreamed 

That she was all my own. 

All eloquent, she lingered there 

But for a little while. 
Then to herself took wings and fled 

Unto a far-ofi'isle. 



LITTLE WILLIE. 

Attend, gentle children, to you I will tell 

The story of one whom yon knew and loved well ; 

'T is not long since his voice 'mid the gayest was heard, 

Warbling forth gentle strains like some sweet forest bird. 

But that soft voice is hushed, and that bright eye of blue 
Has closed on the things all so dark and untrue, 
On the waves of the world he will never be tossed. 
Then why should you weep for the loved and the lost ? 

Then list, O ye parents ! say, can you not hear 
The voice of your loved one, in strains soft and clear ? 
Even now he is singing his sweet lay of love. 
With the saints and the angels in triumph above. 



LITTLE WILLIE. 173 

'T is thus, ever thus, earthly hopes must decay — 
The fairest of flowers the first fade away. 
The friends we love best will the soonest depart, 
Though their memory is written with tears on our heart. 

I could weep when I think of those joys that are past, 
I could weep when I think that those joys could not last, 
But hope sends a vision that 's gentle and fair, 
And bids me look upward and cease to despair. 

It speaks of that radiant city above. 

Where friends dwell forever in concord and love ; 

ISTo sickness, no sighing, no tears dim the eye. 

In our Father's blest mansion prepared up on high. 



COUNTRY LIFE. 

A QUIET, little, shaded spot. 

Far from the busy town, — 
I rise at morn, gay as the lark. 

In peace at night lay down. 
My children prattle by my side, 

Their father makes the hay, 
Oh ! who could be more blithe than us, 

More happy all the day ? 

I make my garden, tend my flowers. 

And watch the busy bee ; 
And sometimes rove amid the woods 

With footsteps light and free ; 



COUNTRY LIFE. 175 

And oft my cliildren weave themselves 

Briglit garlands for their hair. 
I doubt if city dames ere find 

Aught in their shops so fair ! 
The children of content are we, 

Oh ! could the proud ones know 
What peaceful joys belong to those 

Who nature only know ? 



I LOVED HIM. 

I LOVED him, but I would not own 

The deep, fond love I felt, — 
Though sorrow dwelt upon his brow, 

When by my side he knelt. 

I loved him, but I deeply vowed 

I would not wed again ; 
And though his fond words touched my heart, 

They touched it all in vain. 

He brought me flowers, the fairest flowers. 

To twine amid my hair ; 
He said those flowers would well become 

The brow of one so fair. 



I LOVED HIM. 177 

But oh ! I spurned the gentle gift, 

And bade him turn aside, 
And seek a fairer, happier one 

To be his chosen bride. 

For I could only give to him 

A sad and sorrowing heart ; 
And when he 'd ask for smiles from me. 

Tears would unbidden start. 



16 



THE LONELY GRAVE. 

TiiEEE is a grave, a lonely grave, 

Deep in a woodland glade ; 
'No fiiendly hand has placed it there, — 

By strangers was it made. 

And yet it is a lovely spot, — 

The wild flowers sweetly bloom, 
And shed abroad their fragrance rare. 

With beauty and perfume. 
And I am told, at evening hour, 

The village maidens come 
And cull those lovely woodland flowers, 

And deck the stranger's tomb. 



Ml 



THE LONELY GRAVE. 179 



Gratitude ! thou b allowed guest ! 
Thrice welcome to my heart ! 

1 hail thee as a precious gift, 

Nor from thee will 1 part 
Till I have poured my spirit forth, 

O maidens ! unto thee. 
In grateful strains for kindness shown 

To one so dear to me. 



LINES 

On receiving a Number of the Repository. 

Thou com'st to me, bright messenger, 

With many garlands, wrought 
Of all the fairest, purest things 

Of intellect and thought. 

Within thy modest pages. 

Thou truly dost inclose 
The lily's sweet humility. 

With the beauty of the rose. 

Thy prose is high and holy ; 

To thy verse it doth belong. 
In sweet and solemn cadence. 

To bear the soul in song. 



THE REPOSITORY. Jgl 

Thine is a noble oflBce, — 

To elevate the mind, 
And lift the drooping spirit, 

From the dross of earth refined. 

Then welcome ! ever welcome 

To my heart and to my home, 
With such a gentle monitor 

I surely can not roam 

From the paths of truth and virtue, 

Which thou dost sweetly blend ; 
Then come, and I will hail thee 

As an old familiar friend. 

And when my mind is sorrowful. 

With bitter thoughts oppressed, 
I '11 turn thy pages o'er, and read 

The " Gatherings of the West." 



AUTUMN FLOWERS. 

Pale autumn flowers ! I love ye well, 
Though a tale of sadness ye bring ; 

Yes, dearer to me are these autumn flowers 
Than the first fair buds of spring. 

I love ye ! for ye are the- last 

That blooms 'neath a northern sky, — 
The last that adorns the grave of one, 

Who was early doomed to die. 



REMORSE. 

Away ! I will not hear of hope ! 

Oh, mock me not with bliss ! 
Kor speak of future joys to me ! 

Such agony as this 
Was born not for a single hour, 

To live but for a day ; 
For life, ah ! life is all too short 

Such penance sad to pay. 

Some sorrows bear upon the heart 

But for a little while, 
Then pass away, like April shower 

Before the sun's glad smile. 



184 REMORSE. 

But no such sorrow do I bear 
Within this wounded breast ; 

Heavy with grief, dim with despair, 
My spirit finds no rest. 

A father's curse is on my soul — 

A mother's broken heart — ■ 
A sister's cheek is flushed with shame, 

And tears of anguish start. 
Then tell me not of happiness, 

Until this weary head 
Shall lay its sorrow and its shame 

Beside the moldering dead ! 



HOME, 

Home ! dearest home ! I love thee well, 
I love thee more than -words can tell ; 
There is no spot to me on earth 
So dear, as that which gave me birth ; 
There are no friends so dear to me. 
As those who tell me most of thee. 

Oh, could I leave my much loved home. 
O'er this unfriendly world to roam ? 
Say, could I bid a long adieu 
To friends so loved and honored too ? 
There are some things for which I 'd dare 
To leave my own loved bower of prayer — 
Things which so fill my trusting heart. 
That tears, repenting tears, virill start. 



186 HOME. 

Saviour ! clear Saviour ! for thy sake 
I would the ties of kindred break, — 
Gaze my last look on this loved shore, 
And part with friends, to meet no more. 
Shall I assist to raise on high 
A standard, 'neath a burning sky ? 
Or 'mid the western forests rove, 
An outcast far from all I love ? 

Gladly, if I a soul might save ; — 
Though I should meet an early grave 
Where the rude Eocky Mountains rise 
In gloomy grandeur to the skies, 
And the Pacific's rock-bound shore 
Is washed with never ceasing roar ; 
Where the untutored savage yell 
Is heard, but ne'er the Sabbath bell. 



EDITH TO MORTON. 



" Had he died, I would have lamented him ; had he proved false, 1 would have 
forgiven him : but a traitor to his country, I will tear him fi-om my heart ! " 

Old MortaliUj. 



If thou hadst died, I would have wept 
With sorrow o'er thy tomb, 

And sought the fairest flowers of earth, 
To shed their early bloom 

Around thy lowly resting place ; 

I would have wept with tears, — 
And pain, and sorrow, grief, and care, 
■ Had made up all my years. 



188 EDITH TO MORTON. 

Nay, hadst thou e'en proved false to me, 
I would have loved thee on, 

And thought of all thy tenderness 
In days 't were past and gone. 

But recreant to thy dearest trust, 

A traitor to thy king ! — 
I shame me that an act of thine, 

Could tears of sorrow bring 

From out the heart that 's deeply vowed 

Thy image to forget, 
Though every fiber of the soul 

Be strung with deep regret. 

Then seek not, traitor ! dare not seek 

An interview with me ; 
Indignant shame would flush my cheek 

If I should look on thee ! 



STANZAS 

On the Death of Mes. E. Keely. 

And is she dead ? and can it be, 

That voice so full of melody 

No longer lingers on the ear ? 

O sisters, pause and shed a tear ! 

Oh ! pause ye where the wild flowers grow, 

And breezes bland of summer blow — 

Pause ye, and kneeling on that sod. 

Lift up your spirits unto God. 

For she, the tender and the true, 
Whose name in verse I fondly woo, 
Has faded from the earth away. 
To dwell amid the realms of day, 



190 ON THE DEATH OF MRS. E. KEELY 

In vain her husband looks around, — 
He can not see her face, — 
Though in each well remembered scene 
He her dear form can trace. 



Her gentle children ne'er again 
Will know a mother's love, — 
May he who guards the motherless 
Look on them from above ! 
And many friends shall weep for her, — ■ 
The church shall mourn her loss, — 
For ne'er was she the one to shrink 
From bearing every cross ; 



But now, tlie cross is laid aside, 

A crown to her is given, — 

And she has heard those blessed words, 

" Come up and dwell in heaven." 

Let this glad thought our bosoms cheer, 

Though we no more her voice shall hear,- 

'T is tuned with heavenly choirs above, 

Kadiant in sacred light and love. 



ON THE DEATH OF RJRS. E. KEELY. 191 

That brow once worn with pain and care^ 
A bright unfading wreath shall wear, — 
Those faded cheeks, immortal bloom, 
"While we are sorrowing o'er her tomb, 
Dear friend ! did I not love thy name ? 
And in my heart didst thou not claim 
A place ? and it to thee I '11 give. 
While gratitude and memory live. 

And though on earth we meet no more, 
I'trust we '11 meet on that briefht shore ; 
Glad hands we '11 strike, our voices raise 
In grateful tribute, full of praise, 
To Him who gives^us back again 
Friends that on earth we fondly claim. 



I'M WITH YOU, DEAR SISTERS. 

I 'm with you, dear sisters! 

1 'm with you once more ; 
Kind greetings await me, 

Fond friends at the door. 

All hasten to meet me, 

And welcome me home ; 
Oh, why from such friends 

Should my footsteps e'er roam ? 

I have not been long, dearest sisters, away, 
But sad was my heart, though brief was my stay ; 
So kind and so gentle, so loving and true. 
In joy and in sadness, I 'm ever with you. 

But thou, dearest brother, the loved one of all, 
I fancy thy footsteps in parlor and hall, — 
Thy voice rings out gladly, and falls on mine ear ; 
T know 't is but fancy, I feel thou 't not here. 



A LEGEND OF THE SOUTH 



PART FIRST. 

'T WAS eve, sweet eve : a southern sky 

Had flung its thousand lights on high, 

And many a fair and lovely scene 

Silvered beneath the moon's pale beam ; 

"While, stretching southward far away. 

Lake Pontchartrain in beauty lay, 

'Mid scenes so fair, when on her strand 

You 'd almost deem it fairy land ; 

And just beside, a noble wood, 

Draped in the moonlight, proudly stood, 

Where Pan, the god of sylvan shades. 

Held revels 'mid these woodland glades. 

The broad magnolia's leaves unfold 

Beside the aster's flowers of gold ; 
17 



194 A LEGEND OF THE SOUTH. 

The columbine and lupine wreathed 
Garlands, which fragrance only breathed ; 
And birds of every hue and wing, 
Gaily amid the flowerets sing. 
1^0 dreary winter visits here. 
But spring, sweet spring-time, all the year. 
And now my strain is sung to thee, 
I '11 tell a tale as told to me : — 

'T is said, amid those lovely wilds 

A lonely hermit dwells, 
Apart from man, and shunning all, 

To none his tale he tells. 

'T is told by those who near him live, 

That many years before. 
He came from Italy's fair clime, 

And sought our Western shore. 

Cleft in the hollow of a rock. 

His lonely home is made ; 
The wild vines wreathe their tendrils round. 

And form a vernal shade. 



A LEGEND OF THE SOUTH. 195 

At early morn he seeks for game, 

For well he loves the chase, 
The red deer trembles when he sees 

The time-worn hermit's face. 

And oft he climbs the loftiest steeps, 

"Where soaring eagles feed, 
To gaze upon a stormy sky. 

As if he sought to read 

The destiny of one so strange, 

Self-exiled from his home — 
An alien from his own sweet land, 

Amid our shades to roam. 

A poet and an artist, he 

Dwelt 'neath his native sky ; 
Amid those glorious works of art 

Too beautiful to die. 

Fame and ambition made for him 

A halo round his brow ; 
Alas, for all those lovely dreams ! 

Where have thev flown to, now ? 



196 A LEGEND OF THE SOUTH. 

He loved — it is a simple tale, 
And one that 's often told ; 

For she he loved was beautiful, 
And rich in lands and gold. 

The daughter of a lordly house, 
A Baron's only pride — 

For whose fair hand the proudest peers 
Of many a realm had sighed. 

'T was in his studio first they met : 
Her friends had brought her there. 

To see if art could picture forth 
A sculptured form so fair. 

With trembling hand and heart of fire, 
He sought her form to trace ; 

But ah, despair was on his brow, 
For who could give that face ? — 

The heavenly beauty of the mind. 
The spirit's sparkling light, 

The eye whose gentle radiance shone, 
Soft as the stars of night. 



A LEGEND OF THE SOUTH. 197 

Enshrined within his heart of hearts 

Each look of hers now lay — 
A breath of summer o'er his soul, 

Too soon to pass away. 



PART SECOND. 

'T is night, a night in Italy : 
How to the mind it brings 

Bright visions of that lovely land's 
All high and glorious things. 



17* 



'Neath a myrtle and an orange grove, 

On a bed of violets sweet, 
Sat this gentle high-born maiden. 

With the artist at her feet. 



The sunlight from the mountains 

Had faded quite away. 
And the misty shades of evening 

Were gathering thick and gray. 



198 A LEGEND OF THE SOUTH 

When from her father's castle 
That maiden fau' was seen 

To glide, with noiseless footsteps, 
Along the shadowy green. 

Is this the Baron's daughter. 

The peerless Isabel, 
Who wanders in the moonlight 

Alone by lake and fell ? 

Her lover 's watching for her. 
He 's waited for her long. 

With a heart of bm^ning eloquence. 
And li]DS and tone of song. 

And oh, what wondrous tenderness 
Is falling from his tongue, 

And with what fond and earnest faith 
Unto his words she clung. 

" Love me ever," said the maiden. 
And her voice was soft and low. 

Like the sighing of the south winds 
Amid the myrtle's bough. 



A LEGEND OF THE SOUTH. 199 



PART THIRD. 

Grim and silent, in the moonlight 

An ancient chapel stood, 
Where dwelt a priestly anchorite — 

The humble and the good. 

With swift and quiet footsteps 

The lovers bent their way, 
Ah, toward this ruined chapel. 

Guided by the moon's soft ray. 

They have passed the lonely threshold, 

The holy man is there. 
Before him is a crucifix. 

Beside a book of prayer. 

There 's a deadly pallor resting 

Upon the maiden's brow. 
As they kneel w^ith pious fervor. 

To take the solemn vow 



200 A LEGEND OF THE SOUTH. 

That binds them to each other. 

The words were scarcely said, 
When through the vaulted chapel 

Rang a voice as from the dead — 

" Forbear, forbear, my children !" 
All turned in wild alarm, 

And, lo ! beside the doorway 
Stood a proud and noble form. 

The face was deeply shaded. 
But amid the gathering gloom. 

The maiden knew her father 
By the waving of his plume. 

' • Forbear ! ' ' again he uttered , 
And his voice was stern and deep, 

" Let thy words be all unspoken. 
That vow thou must not keep. 

" Ye are both, O God ! my children. 
The same by birth and name — 

Thine, thine will be the anguish. 
But mine has been the shame." 



A LEGEND OF THE SOUTH. 201 

Then he told how he had wandered 

To a distant land away, 
To a fair and smiling valley, 

Called the Yalley of Glenstray ; 

Where he wooed an humble maiden, 

And won her for his bride. 
Fearing his father's anger, 

But more his mother's ^Dride, 

He had wedded her in secret ; 

They had never told the tale, 
Though his gentle bride grew sorrowful, 

While her brow grew sad and pale. 

The beautiful and timid girl 

Drooped daily by his side. 
Yet still he would not claim' her 

As his own, his wedded bride. 

But the Friend unto the wretched 

Came swiftly to her aid. 
And soon all quietly she slept 

Within tlic church -yard's sliade. 



202 A LEGEND OF THE SOUTH. 

But ere she died, she 'd given 

Unto his arms a son — 
" Thou, thou," exclaimed the father, 

" Art that wronged, forsaken one !" 

Pale, pale as death, the maiden 
Sank fainting to the floor, 

While with wild and speechless agony 
The brother bent him o'er. 

That face of matchless beauty, 
That fair and fragile form, 

Lay like a blighted lily 

Smitten by a sudden storm. 

Oh, who can tell the agony 

That tilled that brother's breast. 

As on his sister's snowy brow 
One holy kiss he prest ! 

Then turned away all sorrowful, 

All sorrowful and lone. 
Bound to a far-off distant land, 

Forever from his own. 



A LEGEND OF THE SOUTH. 

And soon within a noble ship, 

Upon a bounding sea, 
He came unto our own fair land. 

The beautiful, the free ! 

And here upon our Southern shore, 

Where breezes softly play, 
'Mid orange bowers almost as fair 

As those of Italy, 

Cleft in the hollow of a rock, 

His lonely home is made ; 
The wild vines wreathe their tendrils round. 

And form a vernal shade. 



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THE END. 



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